


Deadpool's Bootcamp for Negligent Spiders

by Niniva



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Banter, Blue Balls, Bondage, Bottom!Peter, Bottom!Wade, Cock Cages, Come Shot, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Discipline, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Kneeling, Liar Liar Ass on Fire, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, OOC, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Paddling, Perfectly in Character for Fanfic's Wade and Petey though, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Punishment Ritual, Safewords, Sciencing with Banner, Spideypool - Freeform, Stark Cameos, Submission, Sweet, The boxes get to come out and play, The one-liners -- they burn, They are both sexy and terrifying, chaotic switches, dom!wade, explicit - Freeform, no beta we die like men, not edited, poor guy's seen too much, ruined orgasm, sub!peter, tease and denial, top!Peter, top!wade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-04-22 04:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 218,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22144276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niniva/pseuds/Niniva
Summary: Wade puts Peter through a bootcamp punishment for failure to take care of himself while the older man was off on a mission.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 255
Kudos: 379





	1. Day 1

Peter’s stomach knotted as he dropped to his knees at his boyfriend’s feet. He’d known this moment was coming, and he’d dreaded it ever since Wade got back from that two-week SHIELD mission.

“Why are we doing this?” Wade asked, not a hint of amusement in his tone.

Even after swallowing and licking his lips, Peter could barely force the words from his mouth. “Because your baby boy didn’t eat or sleep as often as he promised Daddy he would.”

“And?” Wade prompted.

Peter bowed his head, cheeks flaming. “And he tried to hide that fact from Daddy.” Speaking of himself in third person while anticipating his first training punishment left his mind buzzing.

“And what the four things is my baby boy forbidden?” Wade asked.

“Anything dangerous, dishonest, disrespectful, or disobedient.”

“And why is my baby boy in bootcamp?”

“Because he did all four of those at once.” Shame burned through Peter.

“Good boy.” Wade ran a hand through Peter’s unruly hair, the touch soothing only some of his worry. “Now drop ’em and assume the position.”

Dressed to head out the door to his Stark internship, Peter shook as he let his pants and underwear pool around his ankles. He leaned over, hands gripping the seat of a kitchen chair.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me, baby boy,” Wade teased. He smacked Peter’s Punishment Paddle™ against his meaty, scarred hand, then held it out to Peter’s lips. “Kiss your girl, Petey. She’s gonna be your bosom companion for the next little bit.” Once the younger man obeyed, he warned, “She’ll show ya the love. But if you’re a bad boy she’ll give ya few more kisses.”

At that familiar pop of wood against flesh, goosebumps broke out over Peter’s body. No warm up, he’d get a quick spanking hard enough to feel all day, a reminder that he’s being punished for breaking Daddy’s rules. But first he had to ask for it. No matter how much he feared the heavy paddle.

Throat dry as sand, Peter whispered, “Daddy, may your baby boy have a reminder to follow your rules?” A steadying hand at the small of his back knocked the wind from Peter’s lungs, the anticipation jacking up his heartrate until he could barely hear over the blood rushing through his ears.

With a loud smack, a line of beestings blossomed across both ass cheeks. Peter’s yelp didn’t stop the next strike from landing at the top of his thighs. With the third hit, a tear of frustration and pain rolled down his nose.

Peter wanted to beg, plead for leniency, anything to stop the vicious blows. Not that Wade would relent. Not unless Peter used his safeword. And it fluttered at the edge of his mind. He could yelp _pineapple_, and the hard cracks would stop. For now.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter barely noticed when Wade’s hand stroked gently over the heated marks on his ass. Until the bigger man tapped his hip twice, the signal for Peter to stand.

“That’s just ten strokes, but I think that’s enough. Whad'ya say, baby boy, think you’ll feel that until you get home?”

Hating the way he sniffled, Peter replied, “Yes, Daddy.” He wanted to see the red across his ass, but he didn’t have time to twist in front of the bathroom mirror.

Wade sat in the chair while rubbing lube over Peter’s locking cock cage. “And what’s forbidden during bootcamp?”

“I’m not allowed to touch myself, Daddy.”

“Bingo, got it in one.” With a chuckle Wade slipped the plastic into place and pushed the lock closed. “Now get those pants up so you aren’t late for work.”

Once Peter tugged himself together, he ran a sleeve over his cheeks to dry his tears. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re doing so good, baby boy. Just two more and you’ll be through your first day of bootcamp.” Wade wrapped both arms around Peter’s smaller frame. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

“You too.” Peter paused long enough to give Wade an affectionate kiss before he hurried out the door only two minutes later than usual.

When Peter got home, he wanted nothing more than to jack off in a hot shower. Yeah, that wouldn’t be happening.

Circling a finger in the air, Wade greeted him with the accursed words, “Drop ’em.” Then he pointed to the chair where Peter’s Punishment Paddle™ would be staying for the foreseeable future.

Reluctant but resigned Peter displayed his ass for Wade’s inspection.

“Was that hard enough with your healing factor, baby boy?” Wade asked, trailing cool, scarred hands over the curves of Peter’s ass.

Peter thought it’d been plenty hard, thank you very much, but he wasn’t honestly certain. “Yeah. Well, maybe? It was a good solid five out of ten as I went out the door, but by lunch…” He paused to breathe. The tips of his ears flamed as he admitted. “By lunch the ache had moved to my balls.”

In his peripheral Wade nodded. “Good, good. This is just a refresher, a three outta ten. Speak up if I get carried away.”

“Yes, daddy.” Peter shoved down his pride and kissed the wood. “Daddy, will you remind your baby boy to be good?”

“Why of course I will, sweetheart,” Wade sing songed.

One solid smack awoke the ache in Peter’s ass, even as his cock sprang to attention against his cage. The tears came easily with each blow afterward, and they continued even as Wade pulled him to his chest.

“It’s okay, baby boy. Let it out. Cry all you need to. Such a good boy,” he cooed. “You’re so strong and brave, and Daddy’s so, so proud of you.”

Peter squeezed out something he hoped passed for his gratitude. Once his sobs eased, he said, “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I knew I shouldn’t run myself ragged like that, but I did it anyway.”

“Shh, baby boy, I know. I know you’re sorry.”

“Please, Daddy—” Peter gulped in a failed attempt to swallow down his desperation “—please, I need to come. Hurts so bad, Daddy, please.”

“You know I can’t deny you anything when you beg so pretty.” Wade huffed into the crook of Peter’s neck. “Go strip and lay down at the foot of the bed.”

Peter hurried to do as he was told.

Wade yeah-yeahed to Childish Gambino’s “This Is America” as he stepped into their bedroom. He didn’t spare Peter a glance as he rummaged through their toybox. “Hmm, is a little rope enough to remind you to keep your hands to yourself, darlin’?”

“Yea—er, yes, sir, er, Daddy.” Peter’s cock crushed against its cage, and he could hear his balls getting bluer. “Please,” he whined.

“I know,” Wade repeated as he knotted the middle of the rope. He guided both of Peter’s hands through the resulting loop, slid both strands under the mattress, and tied them off around Peter’s ankles. “Spread your legs so I can reach your cage. That’s it. Good, good. You’re such a good boy.”

When Peter heard the key in the lock, he whimpered in relief. By the time Wade wrapped one textured hand around his straining erection, Peter was gushing, “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you. I need it. I need you. Thank you so much. I need you, Daddy.”

“Can you flip over, sweetie?”

“I… I think so.” Peter bit down his frustration as he rolled to his side.

“Head down, ass up, baby boy.” Wade landed a stinging slap on Peter’s round ass and giggled. “I know! And we get to tap that.”

On his knees and forearms with his cheek against his pillow, Peter ogled the muscles his boyfriend revealed at an infuriatingly slow pace. “Are the boxes being nice?” he asked, careful to downplay his concern. When the boxes turned on Wade, they tore him down until he was a suicidal mess.

“Yes, Petey-pie, they’re being an absolute delight.” Sarcasm laced the reply.

After almost a year of dating, Peter trusted his lover to tell him the absolute truth. He knew Wade couldn’t say the same, and a spike of shame washed over him. Just a raised eyebrow had been enough to make Peter confess that he’d screwed up and lied about it.

The bed dipped with Wade’s heft. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanna lie and say it’s just blue balls,” Peter replied, keeping a tight lid on the shame that slithered under his skin, “but I hate how you’re more trustworthy than I am.”

“Oh, baby boy, don’t worry about that. You just corrected yourself rather than tell a fib, right?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter found himself sniffling again, his voice subdued.

“And do you have any plans on lying to me the next time you don’t want to tell me something?”

“No, Daddy.”

“And are you enjoying bootcamp so far?”

“No,” Peter muttered but hurriedly added, “but I love the way you’re forcing me to take responsibility. I’ve spent so much of my life lying to everyone I loved, and now…”

“Now there’s repercussions?” Wade suggested.

“Yeah.” A sharp crack across Peter’s ass had him quickly amend that. “Yes, Daddy.” He flushed at the way his dick jumped when the pain spiked. “Please, Daddy, need you so much.” He peered up through his lashes, studying his lover’s hungry expression.

The snap of a lube cap opening had never been so welcome. Chill liquid smeared over his rim, then Wade spread more over his length. “Ready?” he asked as he knelt behind Peter.

Well accustomed to Wade’s girth, Peter hummed his assent. “Yes, Daddy, please, please, _plea—_”

His mouth snapped closed to keep from screaming his relief when Wade breached the puckered muscle at his core. A hand in his hair shoved his head into the bed while the other gripped his hip with bruising strength, impaling him on Wade’s hard length.

Fuller and fuller, Peter groaned in need. “Please, Daddy, touch me. Please, I need it so much, Daddy, Wade, please.”

“Can you wait just a few minutes longer?” Wade asked in a gentle puff against his lover's ear even as he pumped roughly into Peter’s body. “Hmm, baby boy, just a few minutes and Daddy will take care of you?”

“Yea—yes, Daddy.” Peter gasped. “Please hurry though.”

“Your wish, baby boy.”

Brutal.

Wade's pace, nothing less than brutal.

A speed Peter loved. Instead of reaching for his neglected cock as it slapped expectantly against his abs, he clung to the ropes and bucked into Wade's every thrust. He adored this feeling, this man, this moment when his world buzzed with pleasure and longing and the uncompromising desire to please his lover. And judging by the frenzied way those big hands sank into the soft flesh of his hips, Wade found this moment exceptionally pleasing.

Enthusiastic moans greeted the chant of awed praise in the bubble around them, the sound high and pleasant. Soon, however, pained groans joined the duet. At the first whimper, those compliments gave way to a litany of pleased babble.

Rim sore, prostate tender, balls aching, and cock weeping, Peter’s overwrought body rippled and clenched along Wade’s steely length. Wanting, needing, back swayed and panting hard, Peter could do nothing but take the pounding as Wade snapped his hips, slapping his groin against Peter’s stinging ass. Pain and pleasure built to a blinding haze.

Wade growled right in his ear. “That’s it, baby, sob for me.” 

_I'm sobbing?_ Yes, judging by his damp face, Peter's lurid, anguished cries had turned tearful and helpless. Despair howled in his bones with the sweet agony of his long torment.

A textured hand gripped Peter’s cock and made him throb in pure, sweet relief. That torturous ache of need redoubled in his body, but his mind promised that his lover would ensure he found release.

“Don’t you dare come without permission,” Wade hissed. A hand clamped loosely over Peter's throat. His scalp stung from the other as it pulled his back into a deeper sway before it resumed gripping his cock.

“No, Daddy, I won't.” Peter assured. He fucked into Wade's tight grasp, shivering and panting and desperate. A dozen strokes and he whimpered, “Wanna come, please, Daddy! Please! Please let me come!” Against every instinct in his body, he shoved back on Wade’s cock in a futile effort to escape the glorious feel of that rough hand on his neglected cock. “Wade, please!”

A string of fresh tears toppled down his salt-burned cheeks as his world stopped bucking and writhing. "No, no, no, don't stop now!" He moaned, fighting to catch his breath even as dark motes floated in his vision. “Please, let me come! Please!” Wrecked by the teasing, he reached for his cock only to be stopped by the rope around his wrists. “Wade, Daddy, do something, please. I need... Fuck, I need you so bad, so bad! Please, Daddy, let me come!”

“Your wish, my good, perfect boy,” Wade praised. He shuddered and growled as he pulled free of Peter’s body. “Roll over.” The fap of his hand on his own thick cock continued, metronome steady.

Peter did as he was told just in time for Wade to shoot white streams of jizz over his chest and face. The younger man whimpered with his need even as pleas for release fell from his chapped lips.

“I got you,” Wade promised, his hand stroking Peter’s wretchedly needy erection. “That’s it. Just relax. Daddy’ll take the pain away.” His fist pumped slowly, never quite enough. When Peter humped into the sensation, Wade pinned his hips with his free hand. “Behave.”

At the threat in that one word, Peter stilled. So, so close to release, he couldn’t hold in his steady stream of begging. Heat coiled and pooled in low his aching body.

At the first shot of come, Wade cooed, “There we go. No more aching balls.”

Then all that lovely friction was gone.

Peter whimpered as he shook. A weak pulse of come leaked from him. Angry words spewed forth, filter long forgotten. He had no idea of what he might have said, but the instant he regained his senses he knew he was in serious trouble.

Wade’s indulgent grin belied the seriousness of earning a punishment during bootcamp. He kissed the head of Peter’s cock. “Back in the cage you go, since Mr. Potty Mouth can’t behave.” Once Peter’s hypersensitive prick was locked safely away, the older man didn’t say a word as he pointed to his boy's time-out corner.

Sullen, Peter pressed his nose into the blank walls. Arms overhead he gripped his elbows. He stood tall, back straight as minutes ticked by. Though the pain had died away, the mind-numbing desire still raged through his veins.

Rough voice pitched low, Wade asked, “Do you think it’s respectful to call me a cock-teasing piece of shit?”

“No, Daddy.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Wade smirked as he ran a finger down Peter’s tear-stained cheek. “I could have let you suffer with blue balls, you know.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter trembled, uncertain what his punishment might be. “Thank you, Daddy,” he hastily added.

Wade fluttered his nonexistent lashes. “Oh my stars and garters, such a filthy mouth!” he gushed in a high lilt. With a tap to the younger man’s cheek, he shrilled, “Open up, baby boy.” When Peter did as he was told, Wade slid a whole, fresh bar of soap between his lips. “Once the timer goes off, you can go rinse your mouth. Then come find me in the kitchen. I’m thinking tacos tonight while we watch Moulin Rouge.”

Again facing the corner, Peter couldn’t even protest as Wade padded away.

After Mexican for the third day in a row and yet another viewing of the flashy film, complete with Wade’s off-kilter singalong, the older man sighed in deep contentment. “Go put on your jammies, baby boy. Rude, disrespectful potty mouths have to go to bed early.”

Peter wanted to scream that he’d been punished enough, but he had a feeling that, if he heard what he’d said to his boyfriend, he’d disagree. So he sucked down his protest and skulked into the bedroom. Sullen he changed into the footed pyjamas that Wade had bought specifically for bootcamp. Hot with embarrassment, he unbuttoned the back flap, bent over the edge of the bed, and waited with his bare ass exposed.

One more paddling and at least today would be over.

When Wade joined him several minutes later, something thwapped against the bedding. “Say hello to my little friend.”

Confused, Peter obeyed before he realized he’d just greeted a willow branch. A switch. _No, no, no, fuck no, this ain’t Deliverance._ Panicked he considered just pineappling out. _Coward. You earned it, now take it._ But Peter whimpered nonetheless.

“Right? Isn’t that delectable?” Wade asked one of his boxes. “They are nothing but heart-eyes and adoring gibberish right now, Sweety-Petey-Puddin-Pie. …No, I can’t say that. …Because it’s disgusting.” He swatted at the air, the stick whizzing.

“No blood?” Peter somehow croaked out without his voice cracking.

“No blood, promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Wade snickered. “Eventually.” Sobering he asked, “Is this alright? A little something for that potty mouth before we get to the main event.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, glad for the break in formality. “I should have thought before I spoke.”

“Yeah.” Wade sighed the word. “But I’m glad ya didn't. You made such a cute little grumpy-wumpy duck with that soap hanging outta your mouth.” He booped Peter’s nose. “You’re gonna hafta ride my cock in those jammies sometime, baby boy.” With a soft growl, he grabbed one ass cheek and exposed Peter’s twitching entrance. “Oh, yeah, that’s one fashion statement I could really get behind.”

Peter groaned but held his tongue.

“When you’re ready, just stick that luscious booty a little higher.”

Obedient and a bit impatient Peter lifted his hips.

“Mmm, so eager. Makes me think he’s enjoying the his punishment a little too much.” Wade gasped. “Of course he hates it; he’s—”

“He’s loving the attention and hating the punishment in pretty much equal measure,” Peter supplied and wiggled his ass in hopes of keeping Wade focused long enough to get this part over and done with.

At the swish Peter tensed. A line of lava opened across his ass, forcing a high yelp from his lips.

“Ooh, me likey.” Wade ran a soothing hand over the fresh welt. “Petey definitely needs to get in trouble more often.”

Another five of Wade’s finest and Peter could barely resist the urge to rub the fire from his tender backside. He bawled unable to keep his pain and frustration in check. His body ached with longing even as his ass burned from the abuse.

“Where we at, baby boy?”

“F-four of ten? Five?” Straining to keep his sobs in check Peter struggled to suppress the urge to beg Wade for mercy. “Daddy, I don't like the switch.” His emotions pinged around like a pinball, and he feared he'd go careening down the drain.

“Good, you're not supposed to like it.” Still, instead of more lashes with the switch, Wade held the paddle to the thin line of Peter's lips. “Kiss your girl, Petey.” 

Angry, Peter obeyed but muttered, “Just get on with it. Daddy.” Well within his tolerances, he couldn’t justify using his safeword, but he’d been through a lot already today.

“So eager,” Wade cooed again.

A dull thud sank into Peter’s stretched muscles, and he shuddered. His welts blazed to life, screaming. He shoved his face into the bedding to muffle his pathetic cries. In its confines his cock strained. Tired muscles rippled down his back, every impulse screaming at him to pull away. Peter shivered, twitched, and pleaded as Wade delivered one expert blow atop another.

A beat passed. And then two. The next blow never fell.

Wade’s lips moved, his voice drowned out by the cacophony in Peter’s head. The bigger man set the paddle down beside Peter and shook him. “Talk to me, baby boy. C’mon, I need to hear you.”

Peter shivered as those words sank into his body. “Thank you, Daddy.” The response came of its own volition, but genuine gratitude shone in his lazy smile.

“You’re welcome, baby boy.” Wade hummed, pleased with himself. “Just twenty-nine more days to go.”


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ian Fleming said, "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence."
> 
> You'll have to wait until I post day three to know what the third time is. ...Or look the quote up. Yeah, that's also an option.

Unlike the day before, Peter barely opened his eyes before Wade held out a hand, level and palm down. He lowered it slowly. His infuriatingly neutral expression never waivered as Peter sank to his knees in the ridiculous pyjamas. An electric tremor radiated from his groin, his desire still unsated and impatient.

Fuck did he need some coffee. His body said he should have caffeinated three hours ago, since he’d been sentenced to going to bed early.

“Why are we doing this?” the older man asked, his tone no less severe than the day before.

“I put myself in danger by patrolling while I was hungry and tired.” Peter hated the way his neck arched in offering even though he couldn’t meet his lover’s gaze. “I—”

“Try again, baby boy.” Wade’s tone dripped with saccharine sweetness that set dozens of anxious butterflies loose in Peter’s stomach.

“Your boy put himself in danger by patrolling while he was hungry and tired.” Frustration lent a rough edge to his confession. He was a grown man, dammit, but he’d agreed on the wording. “Your boy didn’t take care of himself like he promised, and he lied when you asked if he was eating and sleeping enough, and he… he…”

Peter’s mind blanked until panic seeped into the void. He couldn’t disappoint during bootcamp; he wanted this chance to regain Wade’s trust, needed it as much as he need water. Preferably hot water after it ran through his Keurig. “Dangerous, disobedient, dishonest, and… and…” _Disingenuous? Disloyal? Dysentary? Augh!_ He could explain the quantum mechanics behind Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, illustrate the physiological functions of all the B vitamins, and recite the value of pi until his voice gave out. Why couldn’t he remember four little words?

“Disrespectful,” Wade supplied, arms crossed.

The implications of that word scorched Peter’s ears. Maybe his shame made the word harder to bring to mind. “And I disrespected you by…” He groaned; he’d slipped up. “And your boy disrespected you by not taking care of… what’s yours…?”

“Who’s mine,” the older man corrected. “Try again.”

Peter grumbled but didn’t protest. “Your boy disrespected you by not taking care of who’s yours even after he promised he would.” He crinkled his nose, peering up. “That doesn’t sound right.”

Wade shrugged. “Grammar’s a fickle bitch.” He dropped lightly into the kitchen chair, then tapped two fingers against the inside of his thigh. _Come here_.

Reluctant, dreadfully aware of the burning agony that would come next, Peter shifted to one knee and then rose to his fleece-covered feet. Grounded during bootcamp, he’d be staying home, doing chores until time to patrol. “Do I have to stay in these pyjamas all day? Daddy.” The whine in his voice made him cringe.

“Daw, our baby boy’s so cute when he sulks. Look’t that little curl! N’ those pouty lips.” Both hands framed Wade’s exaggerated gasp. “Well, we could if—Oh, hells to the yes, Yellow, gonna put that notion in motion.” Bearing a wicked grin his attention locked onto Peter. “Strip.”

Quite suddenly uncertain if he wanted to be shed of Peter’s Punishment Pyjamas ™, the younger man fumbled with the buttons down the front. He’d worked only one pale shoulder free of the heavy garment before Wade growled, “I said strip. Not strip tease.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” _No, no, no, can’t disappoint Daddy during bootcamp._ Logically he knew Wade had set him up to fail, but his anxiety surged.

Wary of annoying the man he’d soon ask to hurt him, Peter’s hands bricked as he fought the cozy pyjamas, which had obviously grown tentacles so it could cling to his frame. Once he kicked free of the fleece, he glared at the puddle of cloth on the floor. Bare naked he resumed his walk of shame to his lover.

“Nuh-uh-uh, baby boy.” Wade waved a single finger from side to side. “Fold those up and go put them away.”

A fresh surge of frustration teased Peter’s precaffeination temper. Somehow he’d started with obeying a simple hand gesture, but now he was headed in the other direction, drawing out his morning correction with a domestic distraction. He and Wade had discussed a dozen options to deal with his lies. Wade suggested bootcamp to rebuild his instincts. More than anything Peter wanted to override his need to project perfection, freeing himself to be more authentic. So he tolerated the dissonance as he stowed his pyjamas in the bedroom closet. Some fucking how.

“Happy now?” Peter asked as he returned to the dining area. “Daddy,” he rushed to tack on, contrition and apprehension warring with his urge to lash out at everyone and everything until he downed a hot cup of java.

“Gettin’ there, Petey-pie.” Wade grinned as he popped a glove against his sinfully muscular thigh—an unfamiliar glove, Peter noted. “Let’s put you through your paces first.” The bigger man held up a hand, his fingers together, then opened it like a scab-dappled flower. _Present._

Crap, crap, crap, Peter still didn’t understand what he was supposed to present for that command. He raised his arms and grabbed his elbows, repeating the tall pose Wade favored for his time in the corner, cock front and center as it roused in its plastic prison.

Wade glared overhead, his breaths deep but fast. “Shut up; it’s fine. We’re not breaking down webhead’s egghead noggin like that, asshole. It’s fine; he’s fine; we’re fine, so shut the everloving fuck up, you sack of shit.” Another moment passed in silence. “The door’s right there, and there’s two windows over that way. If he didn’t want to be here, I couldn’t make him stay.”

“White,” Peter hissed, “I’m perfectly happy right where I am. Time to knock it the fuck off. Unless you want me to be mad at you for the rest of the day.”

One corner of Wade’s lip quirked up. Even after a year of Peter defending him to the boxes, he still melted every single time. Then he winced, his shoulders rising.

“Yellow, same goes for you if you don’t use your inside voice. And stop gloating. It’s not nice.”

With his boxes calmer and quieter, the ex-Merc with a Mouth sagged visibly in relief. “Thanks.”

“You’re always welcome, my love.” Warm affection spread from Peter’s chest and headed directly south. At the replying spike of desire that zapped out from his groin, he winced and pitched forward.

Wade stalked closer, his leer reminiscent of a starving wolf. “Does it hurt, baby boy?” he cooed.

“Not much. Not yet.” Peter gritted his teeth, his arousal gaining momentum. “My patience more than anything.”

Wade hummed a few bars of Guns ’n Roses “Patience” before his focus returned to the man presenting his body. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, that’s your rest position. Surely you can show off your _ass_ets better than that.” One hand caressed at the younger man’s waist before dipping lower. “Show me what ya got.”

Knees bent and back curved, Peter stuck out his ass, remembering how it throbbed after three rounds with the paddle yesterday. Only a few breaths from his next spanking, such unquestioning obedience reminded him that he’d not only agreed to be taken in hand but helped plan this bootcamp.

“Those legs aren’t very inviting, baby boy.” To emphasize his point Wade’s boot tapped Peter’s bare feet further and further apart. Once they reached shoulder width, the bigger man crouched so both hands could massage delicate inner thighs. “Now iddn’t that better?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he wheezed as his overwhelming want spread, pulsing through his body, making his knees weak. Those hands tightened into a pair of bruising pinches. “No, Daddy, sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to fib. Daddy, please ease up.” Frantically sorting through the cotton in his mind, he couldn’t remember the question. “It hurts, Daddy, but it hurts so damned good.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from Wade’s chest. “So it’s better and worse, my sweet boy?”

“Yeah—yes, Daddy.” Peter gasped as the kneading resumed.

“Thank you for trusting me with your absolute truth.” Wade sighed, wistful but happy. “I figured you’d present on all fours, but I think I like this better.” He chuckled with a glance to the side. “Maybe… Ugh, let’s try five?” He ticked off on his fingers while still addressing the boxes, “Sit. Kneel. Face up … okay, fine, supine… So what’s ass up, jerkface? Prone. Yeah, prone. …Mmm, yes, prone and probed.” Desire washed across his features. “Then standing with that yummy booty all poked out like this makes five.” With an eager bounce he rose to his full height. “What ya say, Petey, can we have five presentation positions? Yellow wanted a dozen, but I don’t have that many fingers.”

“I’ll do anything you want if you’ll get this infernal plastic death trap off my junk!”

“Punishment first,” Wade insisted.

“Please, Daddy, get on with it. If I don’t get coffee soon, I’m gonna snap.”

“That’s an entirely different game, baby boy.” The bigger man huffed a laugh. “You know how to get this party started.”

Words tumbled free in the falsetto whine that Wade adored. “Please, Daddy, how will I ever learn to mind my manners if you don’t punish me when I do wrong?” When the bigger man stood impassive, he caught his error. “Daddy, your baby boy disrespected you and myself, er, himself; will you punish your boy to help him remember to do better?”

Wade didn’t say a word as he tugged on the weirdly thick glove. Just one. “Lead lined. Better brace your hands on your knees, sweetheart.”

Peter most certainly did not whimper as he complied, and no one could prove otherwise.

The first smacks landed gently but sank bone deep, and he let out an appreciative hum. As the strikes grew more intense, the hypnotic impacts jarred his entire frame forward. Pain forgotten, lost in the candy pink clouds of subspace, Peter floated on the hefty cocktail of indigenous chemicals flooding his mind.

Calm settled over him. All he had to do was be. Just exist. That was enough. He was enough.

Wade loved the man under the mask, the man who’d hidden for so long he could barely recognize his own face. With the insane, scarred loudmouth he had no need to hide, no reason to erect walls, no excuse to lie. Now to convince himself of that undeniable fact.

Pliant and content, Peter didn’t realize his erection had been freed until a rough hand stoked his need to life. His hips jerked, pressing into the touch with humiliating desperation. The sudden privation of that touch brought his conscious mind to the surface with a needy whine.

“Oh, fuck yes, painted that backporch red. Gotta be two coats.” Wade stood over him, grinning like a moron for only a second more before he turned serious again. “Go get dressed. Your clothes are in the box under my side of the bed.” Spurred on by a miserable whimper, he trailed a finger through the dampness that told Peter he’d been crying. “Then I’ll have your precious, precious coffee ready, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.” His heart skipped a beat. “I loved that punishment way too much.”

The older man broke into an indulgent grin. “I know but I couldn’t help myself.” He waved a dismissive hand, shooing his boy toward the bedroom.

When the box proved double the size he expected, Peter anticipated a frilly maid’s outfit inside. Instead he found lacy, silky cadmium-yellow panties and a matching padded bra atop what appeared to be a Hawaiian shirt. The bra posed no problem, but as he tugged the panties into place, he had to jerk his hands back to keep from stroking himself. He unfolded the shirt to reveal a knee-length housewife dress with princess seams that fit like it’d been tailored to his measurements. Underneath lay a flouncy underskirt that made the dress flare. Next he found a pinafore apron in a contrasting red. Below that lay a cosmetics bag, sensible heels, and a pair of Cuban-footed, crotchless pantyhose.

He emerged as the perfect, demure little housewife sexpot.

“Oh, Petey-pie, we’re in love all over again.” Wade slipped a hand under the layers of canary-bright netting to pet over the panties, the sensation maddening. “Were you a good boy? Didn’t touch yourself?”

With a surge of unexpected pride, Peter answered, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Yellow says good boys get a beddy-bye blowjob. What do you think?”

“Coffee time…” He shoved a short curl out of his face. “Grmph, Daddy, bed time’s so far away… Oh, and he did a good job picking out my dress.”

“Ha, don’t flatter the asshole.” Wade’s scowl gave way to a smirk that couldn’t bode anything good. “Would you like to fuck Daddy’s face before you drink your coffee, baby boy?”

Torn by competing desires, Peter whimpered. “Please, more than anything, Daddy,” he answered with total conviction.

The massive man sank to his knees and disappeared under the fabric. He lifted Peter’s package over the waistband of the panties, grabbed the fire of his ass, then the younger man was gone with the first lick. He trembled, thrusting with frenzied abandon. Nothing had ever felt so good as unadulterated pleasure surged through his body.

At the anticipated loss of sensation Peter’s hands crushed into Wade’s shoulders before he realized what he was doing.

“Ooh, kinky. But maybe later.” Wade stood, took the science nerd mug from the table, and passed it to Peter. “Your chore list is right here. Be extra careful not to mess up Daddy’s favorite outfit.” His wicked chuckle turned Peter’s insides to jelly. “Do you need Daddy to cage you, or can you control yourself?”

The scorch of humiliation burned the air from his lungs. Even as a litany of curses screamed through his mind, he managed to croak, “Cage.”

“Now’s the time to mind your manners. Ask nice and proper, baby boy.”

“Daddy, may I please—” a strangled, pained, miserable sob choked him “—Daddy, will you cage my cock so I can’t mess up, please, sir?” Peter would explode if he had to endure a whole month of this, but that was the point: to push his emotional limits and confuse his rational mind, forcing him to rely on Wade’s judgment.

“Anything for you, Sweetie-Petey.”

“May I come?” Peter asked on impulse.

Wade gave a hearty laugh as he dropped to crotch level. “Absolutely, baby boy. I could never deny you anything.” He worked the cage back into place. “But you have to wait. Can you wait like a good boy?”

_Fuck you, Wilson. I will have my revenge for this._ “Yes, Daddy.” Even his desire for vengeance turned to shame as anger sat hot in his gut.

“Perfect.” The lock clicked closed with finality. “Now be a good boy. Daddy has to see a man about a horse. I’ll be back by one, and a good boy might put some lunch on the table about then.”

From nine to noon, Peter dusted, vacuumed, swept, mopped, scrubbed, and shined everything in sight. The constant motion of the toile layers ensured the burn in his ass stayed at a constant, low crackle. Aware of the ache in his balls every second, the cage prevented him from easing the pressure in any fashion. He dropped to the couch in exhausted frustration. He knew he was supposed to do something not on the list, but fuck if he could remember what it might be.

With a weary sigh his eyelids drifted closed. He’d just rest a second. Then he would certainly remember what he needed to do next.

Peter’s eyes fluttered open only for him to be startled wide awake by Wade’s face a scant three inches from his own.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Glad you could rejoin the world of the living.” He glared to one side and hissed, “You’re a fuckin’ jackhole. Of course normal people say that.”

“He’s right, White,” Peter added for good measure.

Wade snickered to something Yellow said. “Oh, yes, right! Right, right, right.” He stood over Peter appearing every inch a demon. “Imagine Daddy’s surprise when he got home to no lunch. But you looked so peaceful we couldn’t wake you. We just sat and watched you sleep. So your spanking is late and so is my lunch. Do you have anything to add before I tear dat ass up, baby boy?”

“No, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy.” Peter stretched, trying to rouse his mind. “May I be excused to the little spider’s room?”

“If you promise to hurry your bootylicious self back here the instant you’re done.” He made grabby hands as Peter rushed away.

A quick piss relieved a bit of Peter’s discomfort but nowhere near enough. He touched up his lipstick, checked his mascara, and hurried back to his love.

Wade waited in a kitchen chair with Peter’s Punishment Paddle ™ in his lap. “Good old fashioned over the knee,” he informed the boxes. “Hey, look who’s back! It’s our sleepy-weepy little housewifey!” He cackled as he patted his lap. “Oh, and you’re gonna weep, my sweet boy. Kiss your girl, then ass up.”

A new ache opened in Peter’s chest as he obeyed. Vulnerable, exposed, draped over Wade’s hefty thighs, he wanted the pain, yearned for it. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Unlike the transcendental session earlier, Wade launched into a hard, fast thrashing. Even after it ended, the younger man sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. “Nine outta ten.”

“I know, baby, I know, and you did so good for Daddy. So very good. I’m so proud of how much control you showed.”

After sniffling through his pure gratitude, Peter snuggled into Wade’s embrace. Still wracked by anguish, he appreciated the warm comfort of the coarse body that supported him until he quieted.

“So fucking hot… No, we can’t use our pecker for a hammer.” Wade stretched under Peter’s limp form. “Oh, yeah, our baby boy would like that!” His rough hand cradled Peter’s face. “We made lunch.”

“Let me guess, tacos?” Peter giggled at the absurdity of life.

“It coulda been chimichangas,” the big man protested.

“Dude, you don’t like chimichangas enough to break out the fryer.”

“True, but it coulda—”

“It really couldn’t.”

“Rude.” Wade’s familiar tease set those butterflies lose again. “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to earn an extra punishment.”

Giddy, Peter asked, “Are you certain?” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed it anxiously.

“Positive.” Despite the warning note in that word, Wade slipped in for a long, sloppy kiss just so he could steal that lip. He bit harder until Peter whimpered. “I could live off that sound alone.”

Wade attacked. Hard hands squeezed. Lips pulled and teeth bit. Legs trapped. Arms crushed.

Every atom in Peter begged for more. He swallowed Wade’s cock deeper as both hands gripped the man’s hips. His scalp burned as his head was jerked fore and aft by his hair. His kiss-swollen lips buzzed as he sucked and swallowed and teased. Salty, bitter pre-come coated his tongue.

Both thumbs under his jaw, Wade forced him to surrender the dick in his mouth. “Stand up, turn around, and bend over. We wanna see presentation five again.” Once Peter complied, the older man gasped all the air from his lungs. “Can you take us dry, baby boy?” he asked in a harsh, awed whisper.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Wade forced his neck into a sharp turn. “You sure that’s the truth, baby boy?” he hissed just a hair’s breadth from Peter’s ear.

“No, er, yes, er… Yes, sir, it’ll burn but nothing I can’t… Screw it: please hurt me. Please! I need you inside me. Right now. Want that burn so bad, Daddy.” The blunt head of his lover’s erection found his entrance before he finished speaking.

“Oh, now you’re singing our tune.” Wade shoved, breaching the muscle, then forcing himself deep into Peter’s heat even as the younger man wailed into his fist. “That’s it; keep singing.”

Disoriented, babbling, overwhelmed by the pleasure and pain he found in Wade’s intimate embrace, Peter writhed in time to jolting thrusts. Nothing had ever hurt so good as the way the bigger man wrung his pleasure from Peter’s willing body until hot liquid jetted deep into his core.

As his lover slid free, he instructed, “Grab your ankles until you close back up, baby boy. Then go put your plug in. I wanna know you’re filled with my spunk while we’re out patrolling tonight.”

By the time they toppled into the window after patrol, Peter’s body had accepted the all-over ache, inside and out, as his new normal. His balls, his rim, and his jaw dominated his quiet thoughts. “Daddy, I’ve been so, so good and it hurts so, so much. Please let me come.”

“We’ll get there, my sweet boy.”

“After my punishment?”

“After your punishment,” Wade vowed.

And Peter had every intention of holding the older man to it. None of this ruined orgasm shit tonight; Peter needed release.

“How many pushups can you do?”

The question knocked him for a loop. “I dunno, like, all the pushups?”

“Then strip down and get to beatin’ your face, baby boy. And count out loud for me. I need to clean Bea and Arthur before that weird orange stuff dries.” An amused chuff floated between them. “I take care of what’s mine.”

“And who’s yours.” Peter reminded.

“Yeah, I take care of my own.”

At one hundred, Wade encouraged him to keep going. The same at two hundred. At three hundred he let out a gleeful squeal. “Ooh, sexy baby ain’t even broke a sweat? That’s hot as fuck, and I’m rock hard right now.”

“I would be…” Peter’s arms felt like jello from the sheer repetition of the task.

“You want me to let Lil’ Petey out to play?”

“It’d be nice,” he snarked, as he rolled to his back and let his arms flop to his sides.

“Well why didn’t you say so.”

He huffed, trying to stave off his annoyance. “I just did.”

“Your wish, my little teeny-tiny studmuffin.”

“’M not tiny. Not teeny either.” The click of the lock was enough to saturate his aches in desire.

“Not no more, anyway.” Wade barked out a harsh laugh. “Now Lil’ Petey’s free to manspread over as much of the bus as he wants.”

Humor dry as the Sahara, Peter scoffed. “My, how droll. You must be beating the chicks off with a stick.”

“You’d be surprised, my Petey-wheaty-kins. Seems you’re the only one who’s all ‘Let’s let Deadpool impale us on his thicc, scarred dick often and repeatedly.’ Not that I’m complaining, mind you. ’Cause, I mean, that is some fine booty ya got there. Gonna hafta be buried in a treasure chest. And that mouth; I can’t believe you kiss Miss May with that mouth.”

Still flat to the floor and not expecting that to change anytime soon, Peter grumbled, “You leave my aunt outta this.”

“Whatever you say, my sweet, tired baby. Over the knee so we can spank you soundly and put you to bed.”

After such a harsh paddling at lunch, Peter welcomed the intimate smack of flesh on flesh. He didn’t even squirm under the assault. The soothing rhythm left him utterly boneless. Once his lover was satisfied, he rolled free and resumed his position on the dazzlingly clean bedroom floor.

Wade hummed Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps” even as wet heat enveloped Peter’s cock. A welcome ease spread through his spent limbs. In hopeless surrender he let his lover have his way in pleasuring his body. “So close,” he breathed as his eyes rolled back.

At the first spasm, that heat disappeared.

“No! Wade, no, you can’t—!”

“I just did.”


	3. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect me to keep up this pace. A girl's gotta earn a living.

“What’s the matter?” Wade asked.

Peter let his head drop in weary defeat. “Oh, fire of my loins, why are you trying so hard to make a date with Death.”

“What?” The bigger man’s head tilted in faked confusion.

“_What?_” Peter repeated in exasperation. “My alarm won’t go off for another two hours—”

Wade waivered a hand. “Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.”

“—and you woke me up just to fuck with me!”

“I guess not everybody appreciates sex ninjas.”

Peter huffed in sheer exasperation. “You do realize I’m not actually in bootcamp, right?”

“Of course you are, baby boy; if you were actually in jail, I couldn’t make conjugal visits.” A sultry chuckle sent shivers down his spine as the mountainous man unbuttoned his pyjama flap. “Gasp, or do you not want to ride your boyfriend’s magic dick in your cute little rainbow unicorn onesie?”

“I don’t want to do anything but slee-e-e—oh, holy shit, Daddy, do that again!” That simple brush of fingertips under the curve of Peter’s ass sizzled, awaking his unsated lust. As his cock expanded to fill its confines, he shook his head to clear the static. “Tell me one thing first.”

“Anything, my little sugarplum fairy princeling.” Wade stroked a thumb over Peter’s lips before rubbing his palm across the smaller man’s cheek.

Eyes falling closed, he sank into the sensation. “Will you let me get off without ruining it at any point this month?”

“The constant anticipa—” Wade sobered, panic distorting his open expression. “I heard you the first time! ...Yes it is arousing!” He let out a whimper. “Do you need out, baby boy? Did I fuck up?”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Slow and soothing Peter stroked over the bigger man’s scalp. “Dammit, I’ll give both of you asshole boxes an hour each of my undivided attention today if you’ll shut the fuck up for the next fifteen minutes.”

The stress bled out of Wade, but he still wore the hangdog pout of a kicked puppy.

“Listen to me: I’ll go without a full release all month if you say so. I don’t wanna but I can. And I will. Gladly. Because I adore you. Adore that you’ve thought all of this up just to amuse me while we work on my trust issues.”

“But I—” His words choked off suspiciously.

“You make me do crazy-stupid things.”

“And you, you—” The boxes just lost fifteen minutes of Peter’s time, but he could tell them that later.

“I love doing crazy-stupid things with you. I agreed to obey whatever ridiculous demands you could dream up for bootcamp—within moderate reason—and if you want me to ride Daddy’s magic dick at fuck o’clock in the morning in these absurd pyjamas, then I will. Even if I wake up in a shitty mood. Even if I curse and fight and pout. Even if my craptastic attitude earns me extra punishment. I gave you that right, and I don’t want you to stop.” He leaned close enough to nuzzle his boyfriend. “I love bootcamp; it’s the best gift ever. Thank you, Wade.”

“Mmm, I love the way my name sounds when you say it.” The bigger man threaded his entire package through a pink silicone ring. “Hey! I’m no minuteman! Can’t a girl want the pleasure to last?”

Satisfied with the other man’s headspace, Peter spread lube over Wade’s erection while the numb lack of sensation in his own presided over the now-familiar pressure tugging against his balls. Kneeling over those wide hips, he lowered his body to welcome his lover with a sensual slide that left both wordless. Sore from hard use, he gingerly met each unhurried thrust. He allowed his wrists to be clutched at the small of his back, exaggerating the natural arch and positioning his prostate to meet Wade’s turgid length. Wade’s other hand slid up from his hips to squeeze Peter’s exposed ribs. Fingers circled his areolas and massaged the hard nubs of his nipples, building an unfamiliar, relaxed tingle.

Curiously enough Peter noticed the pressure caused by his cage without envying Wade his freedom to ejaculate at will. Instead the smaller man’s entire body throbbed in time with his steady heartbeat. He rocked atop his lover, enjoying the scant stimulation of his cock while Wade’s cock stroked his prostate. Rolling into the sensation Peter lost track of reality.

“Shh, don’t distract our baby boy. …Because I wanna see how much more we can milk outta him like this.”

The word _milk_ lured Peter toward the surface of his mind, and he blinked in the dim light. A small puddle had collected on Wade’s abs, enough that a thin line ran over his side and onto the bedding. More creamy liquid drizzled from the hole at the tip of his cage.

Peter didn’t care enough to question it. The easy tempo between them drew him back to that dreamy state. He could get used to this.

Wade continued his disjointed conversation in a hoarse, awed whisper: “More like pondering the unicorn.” “But we don’t own a dude ranch.” “Nah, we just rummaged through the root cellar.” “Couldn’t help seein’ the stars down below, now could we?” “’S not too dry for fireworks.” “Yeah, it’s wet, but we’d hafta feed him up for that.” “Mmm, yeah, more shoulder massages for our baby boy.”

Lulled by his droning voice, Peter started to drift…

…A shrill buzz and Peter leaped a foot into the air before he realized it was his alarm. Clutching his chest he groused, “Shit, that was worse than your sex ninja attack.”

“Baby boy’s awake!” With a playful pounce, Wade rolled Peter to his hands and knees. “Present dat booty in position three, my sexy beast! Aw, c’mon, you can get your chest further down than that… Fuuuuck. Oh, it winked at us!” He dove cock-first at his sluggish boyfriend. “Time for a ride on the Bony Express, Petey-pie!”

“At least turn off the alarm first!” Peter yelped into his pillow.

“Your wish, baby boy.” He grabbed the clock and threw it across the room hard enough to yank the cord from the wall. “Now then, the main event.” After two hours of holding back, he didn’t last a full minute after he removed the ring. Liquid heat shot into Peter’s core. “Oh, that was so very worth the wait. Didja enjoy your sleep fuck?”

The younger man paused to consider. “I did. Surprising enough.” He rolled out of the bed a heartbeat before a jarring smack landed at the top of his thigh.

“Unh-uh-uh, baby boy, whad’ya say?”

“Yes, Daddy, I enjoyed myself very much.” He flushed, realizing he’d been a surly little bitch all morning. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you’ll be thanking me a lot before you head out the door.” Wade unlocked and removed the cage. “Can you be a good boy for me all morning, or do you need this right back?”

Peter missed the contraption already, but he did have some self-control. “I can behave myself.”

“Good, now hurry up and get ready for work. You’re prob’ly gonna want some free time before you hafta head out the door.” With that ominous statement, Wade skipped from room.

Peter had plentiful experience with hectic mornings, but not since he’d moved in with Wade. _Since you let Wade reinforce being responsible for yourself, _his mind supplied as he stepped into the shower. He scrubbed down from head to toe, skipping his privates as he debated whether washing counted as touching. _Has to be done_, he decided.

After being shielding from stimulation for so long, the glide of the soap had never felt so intense. Head back, he stroked his length. Heat flooded his groin and radiated down his thighs. Once his balls pulled up, he realized, _It’s a trap._

That warning came too late. The first pearly splash jetted from him, but he couldn’t seem stop himself until he was wrung dry.

_Well, shit._ He panted in ragged gasps.

Wade snickered. “Mmm, yeah, soooo much worse when it’s wet.”

_Soooo very busted. _Peter groaned.

“Ready, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” _No, the fuck, no, I’m not. _But of course, he didn’t need to admit that, as his man already knew how not-ready he felt. He yanked open the shower door. “Whazza—? Oh.”

The bald man held a glittery oval brush in both hands. “The Hairbrush of Doom, of course. What should we name her?”

After several blinks Peter’s mind caught up, but he’d never considered naming a household item intended solely for ass destruction. “Henrietta? Hortencia?”

“Maybe something a little simpler?”

“Helen.”

“Baby boy, meet Helen; Helen, our Petey-pie. I have a feeling you two are going to be such close friends.” Wade peeled the towel from the mirror. “Because I want him to see how pretty he is when we hurt him, you disembodied shitstain.” He grinned madly. “Come lean over the sink. Head up and eyes open. …Because it’s rude not to make eye contact during formal introductions.”

Peter obeyed. Slowly. Reluctantly. Dripping wet and naked like the moment he was born.

“Helen has twenty sweet kisses for bad boys who touch themselves after they promise Daddy they won’t. But you’ll hafta ask for them.”

_Shit, shit, fuckin’ shit._ Peter watched himself panic over having to ask for the exact last thing he wanted right now. “Daddy, may I—?”

Wade shook his head and raised the brush so Peter could see it. “Don’t ignore Helen! Rude boys get punished twice as hard.”

Peter puzzled on that a moment. “I’m sorry, Dad—oh, er, I’m sorry, Helen. Please, I—er, Daddy’s boy, yes, Daddy’s boy touched himself after he promised Daddy he wouldn’t. Would you… be so kind… as to…?” What was he asking for again? Wade’d certainly succeeded in confusing him. “Would you give me the bad boy kisses, Miss Helen, so I can be, er, learn to be a good boy?” With that heinous spiel butchered but complete, he slumped.

“Eh, close enough for government work. Whad’ya think, Miss Helen…? Oh, she’s delighted you asked, Pun’kin. Will you count her kisses for us like a good, grateful boy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter’s reflection said, red faced and squirming, his calm hazel eyes already shimmering damply.

SMACK!

“Motherfu—hugger!” The sit spot where his ass joined his thigh lit up with all the sting.

“No, babycakes, you’re supposed to say: One kiss, Miss Helen; may I have another?”

With nothing but stubborn determination, he ground out the words, only to be rewarded with a matching smack on the opposite thigh. Face contorted he fought against the prickles in his eyes. His success was short lived. With each kiss asked for and received, his face grew redder, splotchier, puffier, and wetter. Only some of that was pain—he’d subjected himself to worse time and again—most of it was watching everything his mask normally hid: the fear of pain, SMACK!, the ugly sobbing, the scramble to regain his composure.

More than once, Wade asked if he wanted to safeword or renegotiate.

And Peter asked Helen for another until: “Twenty kisses, Miss Helen; thank—”

Wade hugged him by the waist and guided him to the chilly tile at their feet. Cooed praise bolstered his spirit as his pulse slowed. Oxytocin flowed into his endorphin-flooded system.

“Ung, butt hurts.” Peter buried his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder. “What am I gonna tell the other interns when I can’t stop squirming?”

“Percussive maintenance?”

“I told you that one.” Peter still snorted at old the engineering joke about hitting glitchy gizmos on the off chance it might fix them.

“Truth hurts, Petey-pie.”

He massaged the sting from one cheek and then the other. “So does a ten outta ten.”

“I know, baby boy; I know.” Wade guided him by the chin until they made eye contact. “Let me come by for lunch today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Because I’m postponing your morning spanking until then.”

“But, Daddy, I’ll still be sore.” Clinging to the ex-merc’s ripped chest, Peter snuffled for added effect.

Solemnly Wade informed him, “A punishment doesn’t stop bootcamp, Sweetie Petey.”

“Fine, I’ll see you at lunch.” The smaller man tossed in a sullen pout.

Wade kissed the crown of his head. “Let’s get you locked back up. You only have a half-hour to get out the door.”

_Where?_ That question plagued Peter all morning. _Where can we find enough privacy for Wade’s games?_

He shouldn’t have bothered. His boyfriend always found a way to get his way. In this case Deadpool actually had a private recovery room in the tower. “Perk of signing on with SHIELD, baby boy.”

“Totally not fair. The Avengers haven’t even considered offering Spidey a room.”

Wade pointed to the ceiling and pressed a finger to his lips. “Pfft, of course not, _Petey. _Because _Spider-man _has a secret identity to protect.” He ran a hand down Peter’s slacks to a well-abused cheek. “Mmm, ’s still warm.”

“You are the worst.” But he started peeling off his clothes and laying them carefully over the back of a chair.

Wade jerked to a halt. “That’s here? I forgot all about it.” He let out a wicked chortle. “Grab onto the garment bar ’n face the wall. Wanna see how Helen faired against your teeny-weeny healing factor.”

That made Peter scoff. “Nothin’ teeny ’bout my weenie.” Except it was locked down in a rather snug cage that kept it from reaching a full erection. He snapped his mouth shut and did as he was told.

After a moment of rifling through the nightstand, Wade asked in his You’re Still in Serious Trouble ™ voice, “Why are we doing this?”

“Because your boy fucked up and then lied to you ab—”

Behind them the door burst open. Mr. Stark yelled, “Wilson, I let you have a guest room so you could stop bleeding out on your boyfriend’s floor, not to sexually harass my int—the fuck have you done to my intern?”

“Nothing yet,” Wade muttered, dejected.

Stunned, in abject mortification that his boss was seeing him like this, Peter froze.

Stark’s footsteps rushed closer. “I’m so sorry, kid; Deadpool’s never gone this far—”

Peter’s anxiety shattered. _Wade went further than this on our third date. Over a year ago._ “Never… got…” He gasped, unable to squeeze another word out before he doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter.

With a huff of offense, Wade protested, “I’ll have you know, I’m not harassing your intern. I’m harassing—”

“Your boyfriend,” Stark supplied in a deadpan monotone, “on his lunch break. Because of course he is, fuck my life.” His footsteps beat a hasty retreat. “No exhibitionism in my building; keep it in your pants outside this room.” Without waiting for a reply, the door slammed.

“So, baby boy, how ’bout pizza first, then a nice flogging after?”

“Prob’ly for the best,” Peter admitted between cackles.

Holy buncakes, could that man wield a flogger. Peter was still boneless when he got home. With a languid spin, he kicked the door shut before waltzing deeper into their apartment. “Honey, I’m home.”

“—what the internet says, we’re not codependent. Just happily cocooned.”

Peter followed Wade’s voice to the bedroom.

“Enmeshed, like that’s a real word—oh, hiya Sweetie Petey!” Wade draped over him before hugging so tight his bones creaked. “How was work?”

“Great. Right up until my boss saw my bare ass. My bare, bruised ass. As I was begging my boyfriend for more.”

“Yeah, dat booty’s been taking the brunt of bootcamp. Hate to think I’ve neglected that big, gorgeous brain of yours.” His shark grin set Peter’s world on edge though his Spidey-sense remained blessedly calm. “Time to take away any hint of control, baby boy.” Wade snatched a handful of hair and forced Peter to crane his neck. “Once you ask for your afterwork punishment, you won’t even breathe except on command. Got it?”

Peter realized he should probably take a breath now. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” The solid grip eased from his hair to become an affectionate pat. “Then I’ll cook while you talk to the boxes. Since they couldn’t be quiet for five minutes, that’s all you’ll spare for them.” He snarled in warning, low and mean.

Thankfully that wasn’t directed at Peter. “Yes, Daddy.” He felt helpless, and his punishment hadn’t even started.

“Ask me what you want for dinner,” Wade sing songed.

Peter blinked again, fighting to catch up with the conversation. “What do I want for dinner, Daddy?”

“Hmm, I’m thinking you like tacos.”

The younger man bit back a groan, grateful that his lover made amazing tacos.

“But you reeeally want your favorites from that Chinese place on 4th.” A moment later he barked out a laugh. “Oh, you should see your face trying to puzzle that one out. Don’t worry your pretty little noggin, baby boy; Daddy’s gonna make you something yummy.” That shark’s grin returned, more vicious than earlier if that were possible. “You do _trust_ Daddy, don’t you, snookums?”

_Not even remotely with that smile_, he thought, but he answered, “Yes, Daddy,” all the same. Before he registered the movement, his legs were swept out from under him, and his ass hit the floor. A strong hand cradled the back of his head.

Wade’s scarred face loomed inches from his own as the big man rumbled darkly, “No, you don’t. But you fuckin’ will.” He continued softly, “You signed on for a major mindfuck the instant you climbed into my bed, but I’m on your side, baby boy—we all are. We’ll do everything in our power to keep you strong and healthy, in mind, body, and soul, for as many decades as your body will permit.”

Awed, Peter gasped out, “Yes, Daddy,” one more time on reflex.

_Decades._ The word burrowed into the back of his mind as General Deadpool’s Chicken went into the wok, as he chatted with Yellow and White to keep them content, as he brought his chopsticks to his mouth, dropped in a bit of broccoli fleurette, chewed, and swallowed before repeating the process with a tidbit of carrot.

“Decades…”

Wade glanced up from his near-empty plate. “What was that, Petey darlin’?”

“I said that out loud? We’re spending way too much time together.”

A flash of broken terror passed from his features as quickly as it came. “I can leave after wakey spanks and come back for beddy-bye spanks tomorrow. We’ll just skip—” His carefully neutral but obviously panicked rant cut off when Peter straddled his lap.

“That was a comment on mirror neurons, you dink. I don’t wanna be anywhere else, wanna stay right here, in this moment, until the heat death of the universe.”

Wade pressed his face to Peter’s neck. “Old habits.”

Peter almost said that was why they were doing this bootcamp, but that wasn’t right. …It wasn’t, was it? No ideas felt solid anymore. Surrendering his obsession with understanding, he leaned into Wade’s nuzzle. “Making new habits, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The ex-merc hummed the opening bars of “Crazy” before crooning against his throat, “I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted, and then someday you'd leave me for somebody new…”

“Never,” Peter promised in a whisper before joining in. “I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying, and I'm crazy for loving you.”

A chuff escaped Wade. While Peter wanted to inspect his face to decipher its meaning, the pythons around him refused to budge. “Fuck yeah, like bergamot and bay rum and the kinda sex that drains your brain outta your dick.”

“Daddy, will you help your baby boy break his bad habits now?” The request came easy and natural for the first time.

“Out.”

A press in the hollow below his sternum reminded Peter he was supposed to exhale.

“And in.” With that touch removed, he drew another breath.

He sat up straighter on Wade’s lap. Mind blank he synched his respirations to the bigger man’s touch. After a minute the pace slowed to barely enough. Another minute later, it raced until he felt lightheaded. A double press had him exhaling forcefully. When that touch pulled away, he stopped. Waiting for the signal, his vision darkened.

“And in.”

Peter sucked in fresh air with the vigor of a drowning man.

The touch returned, encouraging him to breathe normally. “I’m gonna lead you around the table. You’re gonna assume the position leaned over the chair. Then I’m gonna double tap that overworked ass. In on the smaller first tap; out on the harder last tap. Got that?”

With each breath suddenly precious, he didn’t think to reply.

“Use your words, Petey. You got this?”

“Yes, sir.”

Moments later Peter realized, no, the fuck no he did not have this. Oh, physically all was fine and dandy: his ass ached, his lungs ached, his brain marinated in new and exciting hormones like a damned teenager, all right and proper for this time in this place. No, Peter’s very soul quaked: Wade had full control of his stubborn streak.

During a longer denial, the madman cackled, though he kept the volume reverent. “Yup, baby boy’s suffocating. Look’t him struggle to be good. Can’t even breath without Daddy’s say so.”

This was one fucking dangerous game.

And he was hopelessly lost in it. Sure, his autonomic nervous system would kick in if he held his breath too long, but he’d be damned before he took a stray gasp otherwise. He’d totally surrendered to Wade’s will.

“What’s your safeword, baby boy?” Wade demanded, exchanging the paddle for hand signals.

No answer came to mind but Daddy would handle it.

“Talk to me.”

Unable to find words to obey, a gurgle escaped his lips.

“Last chance: Peter, tell me your safeword now.”

“P-p-pine pine-apple pineapple.” A tiny bit of pride sparked in his chest.

“Nuh-uh, baby boy. Game over. The lights are on but nobody’s home. Time to breathe for yourself.” With no hand on his abs Peter sank into breathless dread until Wade commanded, “In. And out. And in. And out.” He scoffed. “We already had a wee bit today but maybe at bedtime.”

Bit by bit Peter pulled his mind from its stupor.

“So good for me. You’ve been so, so good for Daddy.” They were lying in bed, a blanket over Peter’s shaking frame, and Wade overtop, cooing. “Drink a little water. There we go.” A frentic tension drained from the bigger man. “I’m gonna go get you some orange slices. I’ll be back in less than sixty seconds. You hear me?”

“Under a minute,” Peter quipped, his brain at full power.

“Don’t get outta that bed.” Wade called as he moved through the apartment. “Just stay put and let me love you.”

After patrol Peter’s beddy-bye spanking had that same lazy quality as the flogging. The light strikes ran down the meatiest part of his legs, avoiding his ass entirely. _Recuperation_, he realized as he snuggled down to sleep.


	4. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since we've been playing in a vacuum, I figured I'd give you guys an actual setting. Hope you enjoy!

Peter rolled to his stomach on Wade’s side of the bed. The throb along his backside reminded him that he was only a tenth of the way to the finish line. A pleasant sensuality tinged his ache, and his body hunched, seeking stimulation of its own volition.

_Daddy wouldn’t like that._

He’d already violated his chastity. No matter how badly he wanted to rut anything he could find, he yearned to feel like he controlled his own destiny. Like Wade’s bootcamp, the capricious whims of an indifferent universe presented him with options. His choices dictated the result.

Grateful, Peter refused to sabotage his lover’s meticulous work for a quick nut again. According to his bladder he had about ten more minutes to lie here and luxuriate in the rare calm mo—

—He bolted to his feet before his next thought had fully formed: _Taco Thursdays ought never to be this quiet._ The bathroom light beckoned, and he found Wade in the tub. The younger man didn’t need a blood-stick test; he recognized a high telemerase day the instant he saw the open wounds.

_The Deadpool Paradox: Cancer’s the key to immortality._

“Wade?”

The bigger man forced a dull smile. “Oh hi, Petey-pie. Sorry, musta lost track of time.”

“’S fine.” Peter tutted gently. “You put in too much salts again.”

“But it smells nice.” In a puff of damp floral scents, his boyfriend shifted a bit to face him more fully.

“I know, Daddy, but the buoyancy won’t ease your pain if you dehydrate your owies, even if the denser solution supports more of your weight.” He repeated for the umpteenth time, then paused to determine the proper wording for nagging during bootcamp. “May your boy let out some of your water and replace it with fresh?”

Resigned, Wade mumbled, “Do what ya gotta.”

Aware he’d be late for work, Peter took over their morning. _If it blows up in my face, at least my supervisor’s department head’s boss’s ex-boyfriend understands why I’m late so often._ Clean, dressed, and fed, he called to let Janice know he was on his way.

Wade sidled up behind him. “Forget something?”

“No, s—er, Daddy. I thought you were hurting too much to play.” The younger man sank to his knees.

“Don’t make _ass_-sumptions, baby boy. ’Sides, if I let a little pain stop me, I’d be a gargoyle.” Wade stepped out of the younger man’s line of sight. A disembodied rumble demanded, “Why are we doing this?”

“Because your boy…” This wasn’t rubbing his nose into a minor mistake. No, Peter had been wrong the last three days. “Um, he doesn’t know, Daddy?” He rushed to explain, “He knows bootcamp started because your boy fucked up, but you said you want my, no, his absolute truth, and my, er, his reasons have kinda changed since we started, and he, no, I, no, _he_—”

Absolutely sinful, that smile should be illegal. “Tell me, my good, smart boy: why are we doing this?” The way he purred those words made Peter’s entire being resonate with desire.

After unknotting his vocal cords, he replied through a tight throat, “Because it makes me strong? Tough?”

From deep in his chest the bigger man growled, not angry but nothing tame either. “You were already strong and tough.”

With a little effort Peter replied, “So stronger and tougher?”

“Maybe too tough for your own good,” he muttered before commanding, “Drop ’em and assume the position.”

_Failure._ Peter didn’t care for the sensation. It prickled under his skin.

He set up his next experiment. He recorded his results. He repeated the process.

But every moment, while his body craved more of the unquenchable fire Daddy lit across his flesh, his mind twisted with the unsolved puzzle Daddy created for him. Maybe it was a moving target, the answer changing with his whims? He dismissed that idea and a dozen others. Nothing fit.

Thus he’d fail again tomorrow. He didn’t know the answer, and only time might change that fact. Until then he lived in a nightmare. One he’d dreamt often enough to recognize it in his sleep.

_Pineapple. Pineapple. Pineapple._

A month of this anxiety was too much to ask of himself for some stupid sex game.

Peter had assumed Wade crafted that question to enjoy his humiliation in answering it. Except Wade was smart, smarter than him in some ways. The older man had said bootcamp would make him question everything he ever knew.

A snippet of Wade’s voice echoed from a distant memory: _When that nasty, freezin’ ass water got to be too much, when the whole damned Special Forces thing seemed absolutely impossible, when I knew I wouldn’t live to the end, I asked myself if I could survive one more day. And I could. For a while. Then it was one more hour, one more minute. After that, I held on second by second, sometimes two days at the time._

Without question Peter could make it one more day.

His skin crawled, so he reminded himself to finish his workday, take the rest of his punishments, and let tomorrow handle itself. He’d solve this riddle in due time and not a second sooner.

On the bus home he resorted to calculating proportions to distract himself. _So I’m now a ninth of the way? No, forgot the actual punishment. That bumps the total to ninety-one. Which factors to seven and thirteen. Neither of which will factor by eleven. Oh, wait, that’s probably not the only punishment I’ll get. So if I average one every three days—_

“Wade, you complete and utter asshole.”

At a hundred total, each was a percent. Ten punishments meant he’d survived exactly ten percent of what the ex-merc had planned for him, leaving him with no diversion.

Tomorrow Wade would ask and Peter had no answer.

Sharp-footed ants of failure marched under his skin. Peter preferred Venom; at least he could fight the symbiote. This he could only accept, tolerate. Except his damned brain took any chance to beat himself down. And Peter was far more talented than Flash could ever hope to be, thank you very much.

So if Peter didn’t know, maybe he could find a clue on the web. Too bad he was underground.

By the time he opened his apartment’s front door, a foul mood had settled over him. Edgy all day, a tension headache threatened to shove his eyes right out of his head. “Who the fuck lets someone do this shit to them? I’ve gotta be more fucked in the head—"

“Ooh, Petey likes the taste of soap.” Wade snickered, stoking the pain in the smaller man’s eyes. “Hmm, figured that’d’ve happened earlier. Seems your cute little healing factor staved off the drop for a while. Good to know.” He tossed Peter a bag of caramels. “Shh, White, let me work my magic… Yeah, Yellow you tell that pompous box where it can go; I gotta focus on our sexpot of spidery goodness.”

“Don’t really want sweets,” Peter mumbled, tamping down his anger with sheer stubborn will.

Wade’s amused bark set off a spike of temper. “Did Daddy asked if you wanted sweets?”

“No, sir.” Peter ripped into the bag with his teeth, while Wade cleared his throat far too loudly. “Not happening, not calling you Daddy. I’m not playing—”

“We’ve depleted your stores, baby boy. Gonna need some quick calories to get you into better shape.”

“Better shape? Fuckin’ shape? You pure, unadulterated asshole! If you love me, how the fuck can you rip me apart, day after day, and be so goddamned happy to do it again and again until I’m nothing but a fucking shell?”

“Go sit on the couch and eat your caramels, baby boy.” Wade turned away. “I’ll go get a blank—”

Peter snagged his shoulder and spun him around. “Answer me, you sadistic sack of shit!” He heard the crunch of pulverizing bone but couldn’t force himself to care.

“Because you’re perfect.” The bigger man knelt to cling at Peter’s waist. “So very absolutely perfect. And I love ruining you, watching you shatter. Fuck, so sexy, all delicate and broken and sobbing like it’s the end—”

“Stop it. This shit is killing me.”

Though Peter refused to make eye contact, Wade smiled up at him. “So you’re gonna die in the next five minutes?”

“No. You know what I mean.”

“Not sure I do, Petey-wheatie puddin’ pie. When should I call the ambulance? Or should I call a hearse?”

“Stop it. This is serious.” Legs rubbery, already exhausted by his own rage, he crashed to his knees as well.

“Never said it wasn’t. Drop is always serious.” Wade ran a gentle hand across his lover’s temple. “Tell me, are you gonna die?”

“Eventually.”

“But not today?”

“Not today,” Peter admitted. His anger boiled away but his shame redoubled. A fat teardrop ran down his cheek, the treks overused and burning. “Not only do I let you, I like it. No, I fuckin’ love it. How sick is that?”

“’S okay to enjoy it, baby boy. You’re safe.” Wade crossed his arms and glared over Peter’s head. “I can’t say I’ll never hurt you. It’s a lie and we both know it—Hell, I’m an ugly-ass murder machine, well, ex-murder machine. Mostly.” He shrugged.

Peter didn’t like that fact, but he didn’t have to like it. His presence in Wade’s life saved hundreds of lives, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to expect more. Though maybe he should be. Maybe he should expect more of Wade, more of life. More of himself. Oh, who was he kidding; with his Parker luck, this idiocy would leave him penniless, unemployed, and homeless by the end of the week. He knew better than to expect good things to last.

Hell, he sometimes wondered if this mad affair were a good thing at all. The constant flirting had been embarrassing. Peter hated it, hated how much he wanted someone to say those things to him, not Spidey. Wade never stopped relishing Peter’s humiliation. How could he have let the lunatic Olympics progress this far?

“I can’t even guarantee I’ll never try to unalive you again,” Wade continued, his own eyes glittery, “but so long as you have that Spidey-sense, you’ll feel us coming from a mile away.” He placed both hands on Peter’s shoulders and stared deep into his soul. “But I can promise I’ll always belong to you. Ugh, yes, we. All of us. …Fuck, I said it; now shut up!” The ex-merc shook off his annoyance and pulled their foreheads together. “You’re my most important everything.”

After a sweet moment, the muscular man pulled back. “Ready to sit on my fa—er, no—the couch and eat your caramels, sweetpea?”

“No. But I will.” He sulked as he made his way there and flopped into place.

Once ensconced on the couch with sugar and the softest fabric Peter had ever touched, he noticed Wade wore a spotless sky-blue Spider-man tee and dark jeans. “What’s with the fancy-shmancy?”

“Thought we’d go out tonight. Provided you wanna keep going.” An evil chuckle hung between them, a dark promise that this would be no regular meal. “After I tan that booty, I wanna take ya out on the town, show everyone what a pretty boy I got. Make ’em all jelly of this ugly motherfucker.”

Peter snorted. “You’re not ugly, Wade. You have cancer. They aren’t the same.”

“Don’t see any difference when I look in the mirror, baby boy.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit about my boyfriend.” He placed a butterfly-gentle kiss on Wade’s split lips. “You ever meet someone who’s kinda plain at first, but the more you get to know them, the hotter they get?”

“Um, yeah, I guess?”

“So you get hotter every single day.”

The corner of Wade’s lip quirked, even if he protested, “Seems I recall a distinct lack of nasty-ass, weeping sores yesterday.”

With his best unimpressed glare, Peter replied, “Cancer is not the same as ugly. Be nice to my boyfriend, or I’ll do something drastic. Dire, even.”

Wade grinned at the threat. “Like what, sweetiekins?”

“I’ll pineapple out and refuse to leave the house tonight.” Peter’s smirk announced his win.

Soft and indulgent, the bigger man said, “Drop ’em and assume the position, my peach cobbler ala mode with whipped cream and a cherry on top.”

_Why can’t I learn to lose once in a while?_

A painful eternity later the timer went off. Peter hurried from the corner to get dressed. His black skinny jeans and a Deadpool tee in pastel neon orange lay on the bed. Along with the yellow panties. He scooped them up and regarded them dubiously.

Wade hummed appreciatively along his neck. “Just think: the sting, the panties, all those eyes. Think they’ll notice, baby boy?”

“That I’m not actually into pastel goth? I should hope so!” Peter gasped at a sharp pinch to his battered backside. “No, Daddy, I don’t think they’ll look twice.”

“Mmm, but I want all their eyes glowin’ green. Mouths open. Afraid to breathe. Terrified to break your spell. Want them to stare, dicks rock hard, pussies drenched and clenching on nothing.” The yellow silk tugged from Peter’s grip, replaced with something fleshy and dense. “Want them to see you like we see you: Thirsty. Sexy. _Holy._”

“Daddy, please!” Peter hit a desperate note.

“Oh, we do like it when you beg.”

“I’m begging; I am.” His mind scrambled for the magic words that would keep his lover from humiliating him in public. “Please, Daddy, please!”

“Well, since you ask so pretty…” Wade revealed the key and unlocked his cage.

Peter’s heart tried to climb out his throat. A smear of lube ran up his crack, and he yelped. Then his hands were empty.

“Don’t worry. The waistband on the panties will hold everything snug. No one sees that sweet bulge but me, baby boy.” He grumbled, “Fuck you; I wouldn’t let either of you bloody boxes if I could stop ya.” With steady pressure Wade buried the toy inside the younger man’s quivering body. “Tonight they’ll all know you’re the embodiment of everything they’ve never experienced. And never will.” His low chuckle rippled across Peter’s goosebumped skin. “Lift your left foot … Right… There! Now isn’t that nice?”

Holy hell, Peter’s legs went spongy as the silk rustled over his hypersensitive everything. “Y-yes, Daddy. Too damned nice.”

“So you’re okay with this?”

He flushed so hard he thought he’d catch the room ablaze. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy,” he answered, breathless as a midcentury sex kitten. He leaned to pick up his pants, releasing a blinding jolt of pleasure. “Not yet, not yet, not yet!”

“Oh, yeah, begging us to let you come while everyone watches. All the pants. Fuckin’ drools even.”

Whether the younger man whimpered because of Wade’s fantasy or his overwhelming mortification, he couldn’t decide. “Please, Daddy, ple-e-ease,” he gasped, hips rolling into the barely there stimulation before he could stop them.

“Fuck, Petey, you’re gonna make me cream my pants before we get out the door.”

“Daddy, I don’t think I can walk like this. And I sure as hell can’t get into those jeans.”

The bigger man cocked his head to one side, listening. “Baby boy, can you walk if you take my arm?”

“I dunno, Daddy, prob’ly?” Peter latched onto his elbow. “How does that help?”

“Good boys don’t need to understand; good boys just need to obey.” Wade led him to the kitchen and lifted him to sit on the counter. “Yeah, I know I didn’t think it through. Fuck off.” He reached for the waistband of the panties.

A simple brush over silk, and an electric heat shot up Peter’s spine. His whine came out wrecked.

Body rigid, Wade let out a debauched moan and squeezed both eyes closed. He hitched once, twice, a third time. Then he stood stock still, not even breathing.

“Wade? Are you—?”

“He knows that never happens, you brainless boil on a boars’s ballsack.”

Brows knit in concern Peter asked, “What never hap—? Oh!” He bit his lip, blushing furiously, shamed by his own egotistic pleasure in his lover’s _premature_ reaction. “Ohhh.”

“Better wipe that satisfied smirk off your face, baby boy, or it’s the only one you’ll be getting tonight.”

Peter bit his lip, desperate to hide his amusement. “I didn’t think you meant you were about to jizz.”

“Huh, so what the hell does ‘cream my pants’ mean in your world, Petey-pie?”

“I thought it was hyperbole!” He laughed, couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, yuk it up. Let’s see how funny you think this is.” Light and fast Wade ran a knuckle across the straining silk.

Peter groaned lewdly. “Fuuuck.”

“’S what I thought.” Lips almost touching his erection, Wade informed him, “I put you here to suck you off before we left, but, well, now, I dunno…”

Voice husky, the smaller man leaned back, hips rising of their own volition. “Please, Daddy, let me come. I’ll be the most obedient, most adoring, most enticing little twink all damned night if you’ll just give me the tiniest bit of relief now. Please. I’m begging, Daddy.” He slid forward to wrap around Wade. “Just let me come. Let me hump your leg, the table, any fucking thing. Just please please please don’t make me endure this all night.” He whimpered as his eyes overflowed. “Please, Daddy. It already hurts so much. And it’s so sensitive I’m afraid your boy will fuck up if a stiff breeze hits it. And fuck I want to be so, so good for you, Daddy. Just for you. I don’t wanna fuck up again—”

“Shh, shh, baby boy. Daddy’s got you. I promise Daddy’s got you.” Wade drew Peter to his feet, slid off the panties, and returned him to the counter. “Daddy wants to taste you so bad right now. Just relax.”

Weak with relief Peter contorted to prop against the wall between the counter and the cabinet. He chanted a steady stream of gratitude. Damp warmth enveloped him. A firm suck, a skillful tongue along his frenulum, his appreciation didn’t stop at the first pulse of his release nor at the loss of Wade’s mouth as he spilled across his own abs. “Thank you so, so much, Daddy. I’ve never been so happy to nut in my life, and I’m so, so glad you’re a sweet, kind Daddy. So glad you’re _my_—”

Wade hummed his own appreciation as he licked his lips. “Hush now, baby boy. It’s time to get dressed or we’ll miss our reservations.” He chuckled low and sultry. “Put on a bit of eyeliner for Daddy. Them fiery eyes burn brigher in the dark.”

“Are you quoting The Hunger Games at me?” Peter scoffed in mock offense. “Self-sacrifice only to survive at the expense of innocents to start a faux revolution?” He clapped his hands to his face, mimicking his lover. “Oh, how brave!”

“Hey, I was watchin’ for the weapons. Thought you of all people could respect doin’ a little research, baby boy.” The bigger man punctuated his words with little bounce and flick.

“Riiight.” Peter giggled anyway, joining the dance with a grind against one bulky thigh. “My name is Wade Wilson and I love what I do.”

A less perceptive man wouldn’t have caught the way Wade’s gaze flick away for a microsecond. “Rather I quote Beyoncé? You can change your whole attitude by just doing your eyeliner or lipstick differently. Never forget that, Petey; perfect eyeliner’s worth its weight in bling.” One big hand on a cocked hip, the other raised like the spout of teapot, he started in on the Single Ladies moves.

They could deal with Wade’s grief after Peter submitted his photos on Saturday. This was playtime, so rather than spoil the mood, Peter swung his hips broadly, making bunny ears at the side of his head.

“Whoa, the Caramelldancen. Let’s dance. And by dance I don’t mean kill each other.”

“Reservations,” he reminded. “I gotta dress.”

“Fine,” Wade huffed. “But we pick up where we left off when we get back.”

Peter pressed their lips together and smacked loudly as he pulled away. “Yes, Daddy.” While the bigger man tugged on a sports jacket, infuriatingly announcing “I’m ready,” he jammed himself into his clothes in a blur. When he had both shoes tied, he stood, slipped on his own jacket, and took his lover’s arm.

“Forgetting something, baby boy? Tiger’s gotta have eyeliner.”

Once they were on their way, Wade led them through the streets on foot to an older neighborhood and stopped in front of a grand art nouveau hotel that’d had a complete modernization overhaul just three years earlier.

Peter gawped when his boyfriend opened the door. “The Blasted Heath?” Awed he stepped inside. “She’s as magnificent as everyone said. How’d you even get reservations here; it’s sold out weeks in advance.”

Wade bent his head and ran a hand down his neck. “See they… the renovation… such a massive passion project, and well, they needed money, and—” He stopped talking when a hard kiss added a second tongue to his mouth, resuming upon its removal “—So Elaine and Diane _run_ the place; I just kinda technically _own_ it.” He tugged at the collar of his jacket. “And they still won’t let me in without this damned thing.”

A woman in a sparkling, beaded cocktail dress swirled out from the hostess’s stand, a Venetian mask covering her face. “Mr. Wilson! Everything is ready for you and your guest!” She held out a white mask studded with iridescent cranberry and cobalt pearls to Peter, and once he was covered, she handed him one with metallic black and ruby swirls. With a nod she indicated he should place it on his boyfriend. “I’m Diane, but a sweet little chipmunk like you can call me anytime you want—what a looker, big guy.”

After introductions she beckoned them deeper inside. “I arranged you in the speakeasy. Mary Alice will be your waitress today. She’s a dream. Well, my dream. And a wet one at that. Hot as a two-dollar pistol. I swear I’d do her in a heartbeat, but Elaine seems to think it’d be rude to cheat on her…”

Though impressed that Diane could almost match Wade’s flirt and speed, Peter listened only enough to be polite, entranced by the building: Prismatic crystal, fanciful columns, curving wrought iron, stained glass. Jewel tones so deep he could fall in, trimmed with delicate pastels in monotone gradients. Velvet, braid, tapestries. Marble baseboards barely shy of his knees. Organic florals, repeating shells, dramatic sweeps, biological illustrations. He could spend days just wandering the halls.

A portrait’s eyes followed him across the room, and he turned back to get a better look._ Mixed medium_, he decided, a black and white photo retouched with thinned paints.

“That’s the blasted General Heath Merriweather, himself.” Diane brushed a perfectly manicured finger down his forearm. “Lost everything in the stock market crash. Cost lots of people their life savings. Hung himself up in—”

Wade tugged Peter forward. “We can take the grand tour when we’re not on a schedule, sweetcheeks.”

“Yes, sir.” He checked for a negative reaction, deciding Wade would allow the address.

They turned left into a crowded bar with a distinct railway-baron aesthetic. On the stage a five-piece band played softly. Diane led them forward until Peter feared they’d be eating in the spotlight. As it was the table sat in an odd arrangement. A few feet from their table Wade held a chair, which faced the room. The other chair faced it, knee-to-knee—_with my chair._

“Mary Alice is coming with your food. Need anything else, my precious sugar daddy?” Diane pinched Wade’s cheek. As Peter replayed those two words more than once, he sat oh so very obediently.

Wade chuckled. “Nah. We’re fine. Go make us some money.”

“You too.” She waved over her shoulder as she walked away.

Ahead the masked crowd whispered with mild interest as if Wade and Peter were the next entertainers to take the stage. _Are we?_

Peter asked, “Um, Wade, how am I supposed to feed myself if I can’t reach the table?”

“You aren’t. Duh.” He leaned to ask against Peter’s ear, “Sitting comfortably?”

“Lil’ sore.” Peter hoped that was what he meant as he watched the crowd watching him.

Wade’s crooked, sharp grin made his stomach drop below his feet. “Good.”

A thrum inside the younger man’s body jolted him upright. He could hear the motors of the plug, though surely the band drowned out the noise for everyone else.

Peter couldn’t process this. Hell, he could barely keep from passing out.

“You’re not in your suit. This is a different mask altogether. Own it.”

He swallowed but managed not to bolt. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Everyone here wants to either be you or have you.”

They all studied him as Wade held out a bite of food. At a prod against his lips, he opened his mouth. The savory item his lover placed inside had an odd texture he couldn’t place. Because he couldn’t think.

A nudge at his solar plexus and he gasped a deep breath. When the vibrations stopped, he fought to hold himself upright.

“Squid bubble and squeak,” Wade informed.

Eyelids crushed together, vision choked off to recover, he replied, “’S good, Daddy.” His diaphragm quivered before relenting. Another draw of air…

Not just the people but the entire room itself sighed as Wade place another bite in his mouth. Leery of choking, he chewed carefully. A stemmed glass materialized in his grasp, and he took care to sip.

“Open those windows so the people can see you’re home.”

The vibe inside of him pulsed, and his eyes flew open. His spectators gasped in unison at his quick jerk. _They know?_

Everyone here came to witness Wade tease him relentlessly? When he and Wade had discussed exhibitionism, he’d imagined the fear of being caught in a semi-public place, not this, oh Thor’s hammer, not this. Not being on display while his body responded to Wade, an eager audience in attendance.

Table laden with food, their meal continued one bite at the time. Peter’s hands rested uselessly atop the thick linen napkin in his lap. _So this is what it is to be paralyzed with fear. At least all I have to do is open my mouth, chew, and swallow. Been practicing that all my life._

Except he was also rocking on the plug inside his tender ass, the motion soothing but the sensation erotic. His cock throbbed so intensely it hurt. His nipples dragged against his shirt with each shaky, uncertain respiration. Swimmy-headed, the ache inside him grew to a delectable anguish.

Despite his mask, his arousal certainly had to be conspicuous to all the people frozen at their cleared tables. When he parted his lips another bite, several people moaned. To his hypersensitive ears it sounded like an orgy.

Wade told him, “Some lady behind me is coming already.”

She was far from the only one struggling to be discrete; Peter counted a dozen with hands down their pants for certain. These people were willing to abandon their manners and break the law to masturbate while he was being hand fed? They couldn’t even see his face!

“Empowering, ain’t it?”

_Is it?_ He did like inspiring such an intense reaction. “Yes, Daddy.” Everyone saw those words on his lips; everyone knew he was submitting to his lover.

Mortified but aroused beyond measure, Peter mewled in his desperation.

“A little longer, baby boy. You don’t wanna miss dessert; Elaine made it special for us.” Wade glared to one side before hissing, “We’re marinating in pheromones, what do you expect?” He snickered. “Then let’s rob that pharmacy with a hammer.”

Wade placed the first taste of dessert in his mouth. Airy, more sour than sweet, a citrus note, hints of liqueur, Peter adored the decadent concoction.

As he savored the flavor, vibrations resumed inside him with a pulsing pattern. He flat out moaned.

Fork at his lips again, he parted them. With the burst of tang and crème over his tongue, the erratic vibrations surged in power. Stifling a wanton cry he rocked in his chair. Every living being in the room panted with him.

A third bite, intensified pleasure jittered at his core. He trembled on the cusp. _Beg, damn you, beg! Who cares what they hear, beg Daddy’s permission to come._

When he opened his lips, another forkful of dessert burst across his taste buds. Inside him the vibrations absolutely thumped. He clutched the rails of the chairback to resist the temptation to stroke himself to completion but couldn’t still his hips.

“Daddy—!” He whimpered as the slide of silk brought him to climax.

“Aw, Petey-pie, Daddy didn’t say.” Wade chuckled fondly as the smaller man slumped.

In the sea of white masks, breathless awe gave way to respectful applause.

A marathon wouldn’t have exhausted Peter this much. Every inch of him hurt, and his weariness sank bone deep. Wordless he sobbed as the crowd trickled from the room.

“Hey, Petey, you okay?” Wade clutched his shoulder. “Speak to me, baby boy.”

“’S alright.”

“Peter?” Voice tight with worry the grip on his shoulder turned crushing.

“It’s okay, Wade, just tired. Wasn’t expecting a circle jerk with dozens of masked strangers tonight.”

The bigger man gave a hearty laugh. “So who did you expect to join your circle jerk, baby boy?”

Peter slipped into his lap and rested his head against that broad chest. “Just you.” He sighed, content but overtired. “Daddy?”

“Hmm?

“Carry me home?” He played small and helpless in Wade’s arms.

“Not tonight, sweet prince.”

He huffed in annoyance, so certain Daddy would indulge him. “Okay, Daddy. Thank you anyway.”

“Ask me what question you should have asked.”

He grinned against the bigger man’s neck, already overwhelmed since he thought he maybe knew the answer but didn’t dare hope to be right. “Daddy, what question should I have asked?”

“You should have asked if I’d carry you to our room.”

Peter most certainly did not squeal like a schoolgirl in Wade’s arms. Schoolgirls couldn’t screech that high. No one _stayed_ at The Blasted Heath, not ever, the place considered cursed. The general offed himself before his luxury hotel opened, and no one wanted to pour money into it when the wealthy were taking such a hit.

Peter stared expectantly at the bigger man. After a few moments, he realized his error. “Will you carry me to our room, Daddy?”

“Nope.” He clutched Peter’s hand as the smaller man deflated. “Not yet, baby boy. It’s not ready.” With a glance to the side, his brow furrowed. “Well I thought this was better than the ending we planned. And so does Yellow. So zip it, you hairy mole on a whore’s hole.”

With a giggle Peter straddled him. “What did you plan?”

“When you were good n’ beggin’, I was gonna toss you over my shoulder and sweep you away.” He lit with mischief as he pulled the smaller man’s hand to his lap and gave a playful thrust. “But then my bad boy came without my permission. So now we have to squeeze in your next punishment. Somehow.” His laugh had a cruel edge that curled Peter’s toes. “So how bout you explore the downstairs while I explain to Diane what I need?”

With a nervous swallow Peter slid to his feet. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Stick to the first floor, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

A stinging smack on his ass sent Peter sashaying to the door, hips swinging in a definite tease. Hmm, he’d start with the botanical illustrations. They looked to be original drawings of fractal-like microscopic marine life by Ernest Haeckel, not priceless but rare. While he studied the tiny glass fractals left by long-dead diatoms, a boisterous crowd poured from the ballroom as a modernized Midsummer’s Night ended. That was what he envisioned as Wade opened the front door, and he still wanted to see the play.

Curious, Peter slipped into the gilded space while staff in retro evening dress stacked clear chairs. The oversized chandelier at the center of the room cast everything in dizzying color. He turned his back on the overbearing stimulus to find a frieze in gold and black wrapped around the room. A small plaque at eye level announced, Desra of the Egyptians: A Romance of the Earlier Centuries by Ethel Black Kealing. The first panel showed a crowned man walking through a garden with domed buildings in relief behind him; the second, the same man sat on a throne atop a leopard patterned rug. Two dozen panels later, he reached a battle scene showing the king’s warriors falling to their attackers.

“A-ha, sugar daddy’s lost princeling!” Diane tutted. “We thought we’d misplaced you!”

Peter shrugged. “Got caught up in the frieze.”

“The Battle of Pelusium.” She nodded to the panel he studied, then slipped her arm through his elbow, and guided him back to the hallway. “It’s not entirely hogwash, but no pussies are that magical.”

Even to his own senses, Peter seemed to be leading her, but he had no intent to leave the story unfinished. He glanced over his shoulder.

“There you are, baby boy!” Wade’s laugh boomed.

Peter jerked to face forward. His upcoming punishment made him nervous that he’d done something wrong, even though he’d been perfectly obedient. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Do you sweet things need anything else? Maybe a third and a fourth for the night?”

Wade leered. “Oh, honeybunch, not to night. Raincheck?”

“Always, stud.” She left them just outside the ballroom.

“Dark as the inside of a cow. Vacuous evil beasts.” He shivered in distaste as he held up a pair of black goggles with flat black lenses. “The paint kept separating so we finally covered the lenses with black paper. …Yes, at White’s suggestion.”

“Thank you, White.” Peter held still while the bigger man cut off his sight.

Wade led. This time Peter had no illusion of control. He followed, meek as a virgin. Metal ratcheted as an elevator screen opened. They stepped inside. Up they went, soon jerking to a halt. They stepped out, footsteps muffled by thick carpet underfoot. After a bit of fumbling at the door, Wade led him into a smaller room.

“Strip down and sit on the bed.” Wade placed Peter's hand on a tapered wooden post.

Even with enhanced senses Peter couldn’t hear the ex-merc, but he knew the big man watched. He made a show of removing and folding his tee and jeans. The silk panties clung to him, in need of a wash, so he dropped them by his feet, away from the rest of his clothes. He sat. The fabric under him had the distinct softness of an item Wade purchased, and he sighed.

“Did you have fun with the book club, Petey?”

“Book club?”

“Well, normally we spend Maughty Movel Mondays”—Wade relied on mnemonics to cope with his memory issues, so he only had to learn the day of the week to know where he should go—“reading something erotic, but we made an exception for you. I think you were a hit. Even Mary Alice was gobsmacked. And she works for Diane.”

“I never even saw her.” A water bottle pressed into his hand. Parched, he downed the contents in two gulps.

Wade snickered as he sat beside him. “Suppose you were a bit busy. A bit too busy. Over the lap, baby boy.”

Peter didn’t mean to protest, but the words came unbidden. “No fair. I was overwhelmed! I was set up.”

“Not set up, ass up, Petey-pie.”

He complied with a shiver. Maybe a whine. Maybe a few pathetic whimpers for good measure, if anyone were keeping tabs.

“Tell ya what, scream my name when you screw up, and your punishment won’t be as bad.”

For a whole year he refrained, but now he asked, “Why shouldn’t I always call you Wade?”

“Mindset. Now quit dawdling before you earn worse.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” Peter settled across the warm lap, his legs and head supported by the bed. “Please, just, I’m—” A feathery brush across his ass made him gasp.

“Still don’t trust me, baby boy? I’m hurt.”

Though Peter trembled, the touch remained gentle. Scarred hands massaged over the bruising until he turned pliant. The first smack wasn’t painful, nor the dozens afterward. He ached from the accumulation, but he wasn’t on the edge of screaming like he’d anticipated.

Wade lifted the smaller man into his arms. “I’m gonna lead you to the corner, and you’re gonna stay til I come to get you, right, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Peter sensed the walls more than felt them as his feet landed on the carpet. A cold chain dropped over his head and cinched loosely but loudly around his neck. “A reminder to say put. The wall hook is open, or you can slip outta the chain. Do you want some more water, sweetie?”

He was still parched from panting along with the book club. “Yes, Daddy.”

“B-R-B.” That chuckle punched Peter in the stomach.

“No timer?”

“Nope.”

Peter drank the water like a civilized human, one swallow at the time with a breath in between.

Wade took the empty from him. “Hands over your head. Good. Now be still and quiet for Daddy.”

Once five minutes had passed, Peter made a questioning noise in case Wade had fallen asleep or just forgot him. No reply. At tenish, he called out, “Daddy?”

“I’m here. Now be quiet.” Wade unmuted his phone anyway, and Peter could hear that he was on the bed.

Mind bored, he waited. And waited. His bladder got heavy, and he whimpered to remind Wade he existed. A few minutes later, he asked, “Daddy, may your boy go pee?”

“Absolutely, baby boy.”

Peter waited some more. Nothing happened. Since Daddy took off anything Daddy put on, then… “I can’t pee here, Wade! It’ll ruin the carpet! And the wallpaper!” He could just imagine what Diane and Elaine might want in recompense!

“Quiet, sweetiekins, or Daddy’ll toss you back over his knee.” Wade continued pecking at his phone. “You don’t want to earn a second punishment right now. We won’t go easy on you.”

Mind scrabbling for a way out, Peter bit his tongue to keep from cursing Wade up one side and down the other. His need grew, but he resisted the urge a while longer. “Daddy, Wade, please! I gotta go pee!”

“I know, baby.” His phone continued to blip.

He held on, even as the dilemma grew painful. “Wade, this isn’t sane! You’ve gotta let me go pee!”

“Baby boy, I told you already: you’re free to pee whenever you wanna. Now stop complaining before you earn another punishment.”

He could pineapple out, disobey, or piss. A dribble escaped his control and ran warm down his inner thigh. After stopping the flow, he held back for another heartbeat. No use, the need overtook his will. Whether he wanted to piss or not, he was peeing and moaning sinfully in his relief.

Peter sagged into the wall. Then he was crying, though he couldn’t say why.

“’S alright, Petey.” Wade lifted the goggles. “Everything’s covered in plastic except that carpet scrap under your feet.” Naked, he hefted Peter into a bridal carry. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Soaping himself in a deep, claw-footed tub while Wade stood in the shower spray, Peter tried to remember what he’d marked as interesting on Wade’s overwhelming list of kinks. _Too much to predict what else he has in store._ He huffed.

The fogged bathroom left an impression of the sea, the bath products emitted a distinct brine undernote. Their room had a Hawaiian motif with pineapples carved into the posts of the bed and the center of both nightstand drawers. Live vines crawled over the thatched accent wall, where the closed window showed a view of palm trees skirting a serene bay. The turned corner of the crimson bedspread revealed hibiscus patterned sheets. For all the world, Peter could believe he was vacationing in a tropical paradise.

Wade placed lei of real hibiscus flowers over his lover’s head. “Mmm, Hawaii… Yeah, we should take him to that safehouse. But we ain’t leavin’ this room tonight.”

“How much real estate do you own?” Before bootcamp the question would have sounded intrusive and gold-digging. Now he wanted to know everything about the man he loved.

“Couldn’t tell ya. Remember different things on different days, do different stuff in different story lines. It’s all a jumble.” He pulled the smaller man into a bear hug, dangling feet grazing the vivid aquamarine carpet. “White says Weasel has the deeds and my will.” After a small but loud kiss, he asked, “So want a break? Let you fuck Daddy tonight like normal? Or…” He held up the cock cage.

“So intense after you let me out.” Peter hummed in contentment. “I’m enjoying this way more than I expected. Go ahead and lock me away.”

“Your wish, baby boy.” That accomplished, Wade lifted him, and his legs wrapped around the bigger man’s waist. “Time to resume the tease. And it’s gonna be a lot longer this time. Beg pretty for me.”


	5. Day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the same. Come get it while it's hot.

Peter woke with his boyfriend twined around him, actually sleeping for once. Moving slowly he took a full minute to extract himself. He padded in silence to the bathroom. Once he stripped out of his pyjamas, because of course Wade packed the monstrosity, he studied his bruised backside in the generous bath mirror. He prodded a dark mark only to be rewarded with a dull throb. No one session had done much damage, but the cumulative effect left him with faded bruises even after a full night of healing. Caged cock straining in its confines, he aimed carefully to pee, as a deep gratitude settled in his bones for this simple act that he’d taken for granted his entire life.

He brushed his teeth to be minty fresh when Wade awoke. The smaller man could feel the phantom weight over his tongue, and he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees for his lover. Longed to feel him, taste him, please him. Choke on him.

Careless with the toothbrush, he sputtered and spit.

“Mmm, yeah, even when he’s brushing his teeth.” Wade sidled up behind him and wrapped an arm across the smaller man to pull him snugly flush. “Gag for me, baby.”

Peter flashed an unimpressed grimace at the bigger man, though he swished his rear against the morning wood that greeted him.

“Choke on that toothbrush. I want you to feel me in everything you do. Every time you brush your teeth, I want you to think of me.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter refrained from telling him he was already fantasizing about the ex-merc. Instead he ran the toothbrush back until it grazed the sensitive tissues of his throat. A moment later he heaved as he yanked it free.

“Again.”

Slow and mindful Peter guided the bristles past his wisdom teeth, successfully easing the head into his throat before he triggered his gag reflex. He sputtered and coughed, dropping the toothbrush.

“Fuck yeah, he does. Again!” Wade hunched against him.

Peter blinked innocent doe eyes. “Wanna choke on you, Daddy. Wanna taste you. Please?”

A massive hand shoved him to his knees on the tile. “Then do it, baby boy; gag on me.”

They both groaned as Peter sucked him deep. That hand kept him from pulling back, so he swallowed around Wade’s hard-on while the bigger man squeezed a curl of toothpaste onto his own toothbrush. At Peter’s moan, he was released to continue his oral gymnastics. Pleasing his lover, denying himself, he hummed happily, this contentment unexpected. He didn’t ponder that too closely. Instead he suckled the head, then sucked down the girth, relishing how heavy it felt, how it filled his senses. He set up a steady rhythm, then pulled away, teasing with quick flicks of his tongue, before repeating the process.

By the fifth tease, Wade growled with enough passion to raise the hairs on Peter’s arms. The bigger man grabbed his head with both hands and fucked into his mouth only a few strokes. “On your feet, puddin’ pie Pete.”

Loud and sloppy, Peter pulled free. He stood and met Wade’s heated gaze. “Anything for you, Daddy.” He couldn’t stop the wicked smile on his swollen lips.

“Nuh-uh-uh, no distracting Daddy from your morning tanning. This is gonna be a special one.” He chuckled low and dangerous. “Go lean over the bed and present that perfect bubble booty.”

“Gladly, Mr. Wilson.” Peter hoped the low, sultry words conveyed his full and complete joy. As he sashayed away, his body practically hummed in anticipation of Wade shattering his mind.

“Fifteen is too our lucky number!” Wade harrumphed. “Then it will be in about ten minutes, you jackbooted box.”

Patient, eyes closed, Peter waited. “Hurt me,” he whispered into the ether.

“My absolute delight, baby boy.”

On the first smack, he recognized the hairbrush. By the tenth, he remembered how badly it stung. He panted, letting the pain wash over him and recede, even as each strike grew more powerful. Strangled noises squeezed from him as he fought for control against his instincts. He’d never been particularly masochistic before, but today, in this moment he wanted only one thing: “More, Daddy, hurt me more.”

A low rasp and a hard smack answered him.

As a deep yearning fell silent, Peter relinquished all control and surrendered to the moment. With each bolt of electric fire, his body tensed, then slowly eased, only for the next strike to jolt him. Thoughts hushed, his world dissolved into nothing but the lightning of Wade’s affection. The pain rose higher with each strike, requiring more and more of Peter’s emotional resources to accept. He wasn’t crying—at least he didn’t think so—yet Wade had never etched so much anguish into his flesh.

“Thank you, Daddy; please, don’t stop.” Should he say that out loud? Was it too late now?

A glorious peace opened inside him, but he couldn’t find the word to name it. _Absolution? _Numbly he turned the word over in his mind. _Benediction?_ When the proper word wouldn’t come, he released that urge as well, allowing his curious, voracious mind to still for the first time he could remember.

No, this time his body was the insatiable one, taking all his lover would give and hungering for more. Greedy. He floated over himself and never wanted to return to his skin, which pulsed with heat between sharp spikes of agony. He begged and whined, just the way his boyfriend liked. Though jerking from each impact, he never retreated, eager for that next wretched blossom of pain.

“Yeah, I thought he’d hate it too. Mmm, so red. Fire hot, fire burns.” Wade spoke to his boxes in a subdued hush. “Damn, you’re right. Nice against my thighs.” He yanked his lover back and shoved in to the hilt.

In perfect surrender, Peter trembled from the violent and sudden breach that filled him to overflowing. Helpless against the onslaught, he allowed his body to be rent. Each thrust slammed his tortured flesh, but he met Wade’s passion with a dark joy. Pleasure strummed through him, making him vibrate along with the electric arcs of bright pain. He existed only in the heart of this storm.

Wade’s heave brought Peter to perfect stillness as the bigger man emptied inside him.

Winded, his lover dropped atop him without withdrawing. “So tell me, baby boy, you ready to ride again?”

Words came only with great effort. “No, sir. Please not yet.” He needed a few minutes to heal.

“Perfect. So why are we doing this, baby boy?”

Peter wanted to scream and bite, wail and kick. He settled for tossing Wade off him. “Fuck you. I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.”

“Just give it a try?”

“To see how completely you can destroy me before I balk? To prove how completely fucked up we are? To train me to obey? To ensure I could never respect another lover?”

Wade gave a mirthful laugh from the floor. “But you’re enjoying bootcamp?”

No matter how badly Peter would prefer not to answer, he replied, “I resent loving it this much. I don’t know how I’ve lived this long without you tearing me down. It’s overwhelming and terrifying and absolutely fucking amazeballs.” He crossed his arms. “I hate it.”

“But you love it more?”

Peter flopped over the unmade bed. “So much more.” As his world spiraled further from his control, he wondered when the ax would fall and all this would topple down to bury him.

“Good. We’re through with happy-fun spanks and perfect-ass fuck, so we now return to your regularly scheduled wakey spanks.”

Peter stared at him incredulous, barely daring to breathe. Confusion overrode his outrage. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, so he settled his body into position. “Thank you for the sexy spanking and the hard fuck, Daddy. May your boy have his wakey spanks now, please sir?”

“Such a good boy for me.”

Wade didn’t take it easy on him. The barehanded swats came fast and relentless. It hurt and Peter bawled.

The bigger man didn’t even slow as he asked, “What’s the matter?”

_I’m getting a second spanking within minutes of waking, and I didn’t even fuck up?_ “Hurts.” Peter whimpered, his nose running even as his tears again ran freely down his cheeks. “Hurts so so damned much, Daddy.”

“Yes, it does, baby, but can you endure another minute or two?”

Peter trembled, tempted to say no. “Please, Daddy, don’t stop until I’m begging.”

“No can do, Petey-pie.” He kept up the fire as he asked, “How ’bout you start begging, and Daddy stops when he’s damned good and ready?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Well aware that he’d just been called dangerously willful, he did as he was told, eager to show his mastery over his stubborn streak. “It hurts so much! Too much, Daddy! Please stop!” He poured every iota of his remaining energy into his pleas for leniency, kindness, forgiveness, any end to his suffering. Hell, it did hurt more than he’d bargained for, and he did want this excessive agony to end. So he begged in earnest desperation and trusted Wade to decide when he’d had enough.

“My hand won’t be able to sit for a week,” Wade commented as he guided Peter to his feet. “Into your corner, baby boy.”

With the urine-soaked carpet from the night before long gone, Peter slipped the chain around his neck and placed the loose end on the hook. _There. Obedient, not willful. That’ll show the big asshole who’s in control of himself._

“Mmm, Yellow, I couldn’t have said it better.” Wade dragged a dainty wrought iron stool behind Peter. “Too bad we had to cage his plumage.”

At a feathery wisp fluttering between his shoulders, Peter‘s muscles bunched and shivered. He fought to remain statue-still, but his body refused, jerking from the tickle despite his wishes otherwise. His ass clenched as well, stoking the pain, making him long to rub away the intense, unrelenting sting. Stubborn to the end he kept his arms over his head.

“You can’t make him not—oh, White, fig newtons, that oughta be illegal. He’s gonna love it.” Wade stood abruptly. “Stay right here; I need to see a dog about a pineapple!”

Then Wade was gone.

Peter wished he’d seen his boyfriend’s expression, wished he’d gotten some hint of what to expect. Instead he stood, waiting and wondering. A minute ticked by, then two. He let his mind go blank. The pain repeatedly drew his attention, but he accepted it and let it recede again.

As his hand reached to soothe his seared booty, Wade burst into the room. “Sorry I was—no, no, Petey, don’t touch that ass, or I’ll hafta start over!” He bustled closer. “You didn’t rub it, did you?”

“No, Daddy, but it stings like hell.”

“Good. Now to add a fig into the mix.”

Wade pulled him from his corner and slid a small plug into Peter.

“Now let’s lay down and wait for the burn, baby boy.” Wade hissed, “Of course it isn’t a fig, nitwit. You watched me carve a ginger root.”

Fifteen minutes later the feather brushed down Peter’s bare back again, and true to Wade’s word, the ginger’s heat surged when he tensed. “Da-a-addy.” He whimpered, pathetic and broken. “Hurts so much.”

“Shh, hush now. It’s gonna hurt, and you’re gonna accept it.”

Peter consider that proclamation and determined it true. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll hurt as much as you want me to hurt.”

“There’s my good brave boy!”

Peter’s responsibilities spooled out in his mind. “But, Daddy, I’m gonna be late for work again, and I can’t lose—”

Wade trailed the feather down his spine. “Daddy took care of it; Tin Can gave you the day off.”

Mr. Stark! A razor-edged panic settled into Peter’s stomach. Wade couldn’t just call Peter out of work for sex games, and Stark wasn’t his immediate supervisor. By drawing attention to Peter, he was as good as outing Spider-man.

Peter held his tongue and let this too wash over him. Once the initial urge to scream had faded, he debated damage control for Spidey’s identity and ways to keep Peter’s job a safe distance from Deadpool.

_Prob’ly far too late now._

Wade slapped his ass.

His muscles tightened. A high whimper followed as he burned inside and out. “Daddy, please! Please don’t make me clench!”

“Normally, I’d be all for that—Daddy likes giving you exactly what you want, baby boy—but bad boys get punished.”

“Punished? But…?” He’d been so enthusiastic and obedient. “For what?”

Wade replied in a heated rumble against his ear, “Tried to get around a question you didn’t like, baby boy? Tsk, tsk. Didn’t think Daddy would see the relief written all over your face?”

Peter’s mouth worked while he searched for his voice. “I just wanted you to hurt me.”

“Oh, I did—ruined that porcelain perfection, my marks on every inch.” With a possessive leer the retired killer scoffed. “Can’t say Deadpool doesn’t service top like a pro. Well, I mean you can, but it’s a lie—point is you thought you got one over on Daddy.”

Peter didn’t believe he’d earned this punishment, wanted to fight the injustice, but he recognized a losing battle. Hanging his head, craning to expose his neck, the smaller man displayed his submission. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t want to fail again.”

Wade hummed, petting his boy’s hair. A gentle knuckle lifted the smaller man’s chin. “’S alright, Petey. Doesn’t change today: all punishments and no funishments.” He huffed. “And I had so much planned!”

“I’m sorry. Thank you, Daddy, for caring enough to correct your boy.”

“Fu-u-uck. The way you’re bitin’ your lip. That fuckin’ blush. That innocent face, Petey. You sure—Dammit I know he’s not _really_ an angel, but look at him, White! Just look! And that angel’s fuckin’ mine. …No, Yellow, we can’t wear his skin. …Hmm? …Oh, shit yeah. I don’t think he can do it.”

As the fire inside him grew, Peter spun his head to look over his shoulder.

An evil smirk spread across Wade’s scarred and puckered features. “Yes, yes, and then to really punish him when he fails!”

Peter almost didn’t want to ask. “Fail at what?”

“You didn’t say Daddy, baby boy. Don’t think that’ll matter today.” With a dark chuckle he pulled Peter’s hip against his ever-eager erection. “Since you thought Daddy forgot part of your bootcamp and didn’t tell him, you can keep that sexy, luscious, sinful mouth shut. …Well, duh, ‘when he’s not sucking Daddy’s fat cock’ is just implied.”

The words _Yes, Daddy_ died on Peter’s tongue. He could do this.

Wade cackled as he stroked the younger man’s bruises. “For the next eight hours, me and the boxes will be doing all the talkin’, my sweet little chickadee. Want a gag to help you?”

Peter shook his head no. He knew he was going to regret that, but he did everything the hard way, no reason to switch it up now.

“Perfect. In that case you get to leave this room today.” Head cocked to one side, Wade nodded. “Then let’s get our baby boy dressed for breakfast.” He paused to work the root inside Peter while tapping and flicking his cage. “Yes, some nice bespoke gear. Never know when macramé will come in handy.”

Within minutes he had a rope harness cinched tight around Peter’s torso. “Through the legs, around the thighs, twice, and again. Back up. Under, over, under, over—Because then we couldn’t take him out and show him off, now could we? …Because the rest of the world didn’t consent, you leaky douchecanoe—Pull it snug. Three around the upper arm… Other arm…” He fussed at the ropes until they lay in symmetry. “Voila! A masterpiece!” He kissed his fingertips like an Italian chef. “Yes, the mirror! Go lookie-lookie, Petey-pie!” He smacked his boy on the rump.

Ass blazing inside and out, Peter obeyed. He gaped at himself, trying to ignore the tiny flame of vanity. Pupils blown and body hard used, he looked every bit the absolute fuck bunny, exactly as Wade portrayed him. Red rope wound tightly from his pecs to his waist, effectively corseting him. Overtop that blue ropes knotted and twined, accenting his ass and lithe limbs.

“Nah, let’s save that for next time.” Wade stood behind him and flashed a toothy grin. “Knock knock.”

Peter glared.

“Marco?” The bigger man smirked harder.

Peter fought to keep a straight face but ultimately broke into a fond smile. With so much he wanted to say, he knelt to let his mouth convey his gratitude the only way it could.

“Sweet of you to offer,” the ex-merc said, fucking into Peter’s willing mouth, “but we’re running behind. Get up and get dressed.” He didn’t stop. When Peter braced on his tree trunk thighs and pushed, Wade pulled him back by his hair. “Better hop to, baby boy. Don’t dawdle. You’re already in sooo much trouble.”

Oh, and Peter was in trouble. He wanted to beg Wade to remove that infernal ginger fig. Instead the bigger man controlled him by a handful of hair, taking his pleasure at his own leisurely pace while he chattered incessantly with the boxes. At last he used both hands to steady Peter as he forced three… four… five last thrusts deep enough to gag the smaller man, make him whimper. At the first spurt he sputtered, then swallowed again and again to keep from choking.

“Mmm, I love the way you cry for me.” Wade pulled free and helped Peter to his feet. “Does it burn, baby boy?”

Reply at the ready, Peter had his mouth open before he realized it. Face scorching to match the rest of him, he snapped it closed and nodded dumbly.

“Oh, you are one stone-cold fox on a hot tin beaver.” After a zealous slap that left his entire left ass cheek throbbing, the big man finally deigned to remove the hateful bastard root from his entrance.

The smaller expected relief, instead he stifled a shriek as one last inferno ravaged through him.

Through brunch downstairs with tall, elegant, talkative Diane and short, muscular, subdued Elaine, Wade rambled his normal mile a minute, leaving his usual openings for Peter’s witty snark. At the women’s understanding clucks, he summoned his most demure smile.

Plates empty, Wade grabbed Peter’s harness and guided him to Daddy’s lap. “Little fella thought he’d sneak a quick one past Daddy.”

“Oh, chipmunk, that’s a terrible idea!” Diane giggled. “I was in chastity for so long I wondered if good girls ought never to come.”

A tide of jealousy swamped Peter. This woman treated his boyfriend with far too much familiarity. It really shouldn’t have mattered—he was the one Wade was bouncing as they chatted—but he couldn’t stop the emotion. Normally, he would have said as much, but right now he didn’t have that luxury—at least not without being lewder than he preferred. Though no one at the table seemed too concerned about upholding propriety in mixed company…

Peter latched both hands onto Wade’s head to ensure the man was paying attention. He nodded toward Diane, then poked a finger of one hand through the ring of his thumb and pointer finger.

Wade licked a sharp canine tooth. “Well I’m sure Diane’s glad to hear you’d fuck her, Petey-pie.”

Rubbing between his eyes, Peter regrouped. He pointed to Wade, then to Diane.

“Well, my little voyeur, if you really want to watch, I can ask.”

He bit back a frustrated groan.

“Oh, chipmunk, no, baby. No. Your sugar daddy and I are friends. Nothing more. I didn’t mean to overstep or make you uncomfortable.”

After flashing her a grateful smile, Peter jerked a thumb toward Diane and glared at his lover while folding his arms over his chest. _Why couldn’t you just answer the question?_

Seven more hours. He could do this.

Peter couldn’t do this. The nonstop one-sided duets, unhit geekdom softballs, and butchered scientific facts had him teetering on the edge of spontaneously exploding into a fine pink mist. He adored Elaine’s food and Diane’s charm. He relished his tour of the hotel’s art and architecture, beauty so few had been graced to see. He craved the constant refreshing of his blistered ass as they moved from room to room. He even loved the way Wade tugged his harness and jostled his cage to ensure he stayed aroused. But for the first time in a year, he needed his boyfriend to shut the fuck up for a minute.

“It’s no wonder they called it the goddamned particle after it made all those cows mad.”

_That's a prion, Wade, not a boson._

“So how’s my little bug holding up?”

Peter ground his teeth. A spasm rippled behind his left eye. His hand wrapped around Wade’s wrist and squeezed until the bigger man’s bones creaked, both a warning and a plea.

Wade nuzzled into his neck and inhaled. “Nappie-bye time, baby boy?”

Releasing his death grip, Peter nodded. He could accept that bit of infantilization if it meant a moment of peace.

With a firm hand at his nape, Wade led him to their room, where the younger man promptly flopped onto the bed, boneless and exhausted. “Nuh-uh-uh, good boys put on their pyjamas first so they don’t wrinkle their outside clothes.”

Peter groaned but obeyed without rolling his eyes. Much.

Once the smaller man settled under the covers, Wade issued a quiet, thoughtful hum. “Inspection time, baby boy. Can’t neglect your care, now can I?”

So frustrated his diaphragm locked down, Peter struggled to calm his temper.

“Assume the position. Don’t make Daddy light that ass up.” To emphasize the threat a single swat landed hard on his right ass cheek. “Nothing but the harness and cage, sweetie Petey.”

By pure force of will, he shed the pyjamas he’d just donned. He angled his body to give his lover the best possible view of his most intimate recesses. Thighs vertical, knees spread, he cupped his cheeks and spread them. He pressed his forehead to the mattress, tolerating the suffocation even as his mind thrashed, screaming for self-preservation instead of obstinate obedience.

“Yeah, I definitely like the harness better. Turn your head enough to breathe, baby; it’s okay. You can put your hands down too.” Wade ran a knuckle along his taint, then unlocked his cage. With slow, gentle strokes he brought Peter to a raging erection unleashing tendrils of want-need-must that wound through his core and down his legs. “I think your skin needs to air out for a bit. Stay just how you are, and Daddy’ll be right back.”

Peter sank into the position and let his eyelids flutter closed.

“Let’s get you all comfy for nappy time.” The girth of the new anal plug sank into his body. Once seated the toy warmed and issued a gentle thrum as Wade blew against his ear. “There now, a nice, big plug to keep you all full and comfy while you nap. Time to snuggle in.”

Ass stuffed, hypersensitive cock free, Peter shuffled carefully, leery of what might happen should he brush against the bedding. Once he eased into place, he closed his eyes and let out a resigned huff. Less than a week into bootcamp’s rapid-fire, constantly shifting demands, and he relished the calm moment. Even the plug’s muted hum soothed him.

Breath steady he hovered on the verge of a dream when Wade’s weight joined him. One arm pulled him against his lover, then a leg slung over him. Spent from hours of Wade’s teasing, he drifted into a deep midday sleep…

…which broke with him on the very brim of climax.

He sputtered and yipped.

“Doncha wanna come, baby boy?” Wade asked, head resting on the inside of the smaller man’s thigh.

That gave Peter pause. His balls begged to be relieved, but he loved the way his entire body yearned for his lover. He shook his head, no.

Wade snicker softly, his attention on one of the boxes. “Perfect. Baby boy, I need you to give Daddy a nice long dicking.” Before Peter could let out a proper whine, he strutted across the room. “Don’t worry about nutting too early; Daddy’s got ya covered.” He returned with a small white spray bottle and a condom. “Lay flat on your back, hands under your lumbar. …Oh, shut it; I don’t remember the number. …Supine, baby boy. Show me your supine pose.” He spritzed along the underside of Peter’s penis, worked his way around, then topped it off with a studded condom. “There. You won’t feel a thing.” On hands and knees he grinned at Peter. “Make me scream.”

That whimper didn’t sound pathetic, thank you very much; it sounded so much more anguished and pitiful.

“Best hurry, baby boy; don’t want to lose what ya got. It’d take us a while to get you hard again. And I’d not have anything better to do than spank you while we wait.”

Peter knee-walked into position behind Wade, who already glistened with lube. _Thank goodness; he goes too far with the painal._ After aligning to his lover, he shoved hard and fast straight to the hilt.

Not quite a scream, Wade let out a yelp of surprise and pain. “Yes, oh fuck, yes, exactly like that!”

Happy to please, Peter fell into their usual brutal rhythm. His hands gripped, fingers sinking deep into hard muscle, the bruises gone before he changed his hold. With the fervor the older man demanded, he savaged the scarred body at his mercy.

Loud and enthusiastic, Wade welcomed the cruel affection. “Hurts so amazing. …Because good is a shit adjective. Johnny Cougar, hmph, stupid record executives. …Oh, fuck me, choke me, hurt me, baby! Rip me to shreds! Don’t ever let up…!”

Wade craved the power Peter offered, which he was glad to unleash. Maybe his cock felt nothing, but his muscles rejoiced in being pushed to capacity while his mind relaxed, certain in his lover’s pleasure without fearing for the man’s wellbeing. Confident that Wade respected the younger man’s limits as a top, he neared the line between rough and dangerous without reservation.

As Peter eased his grip to keep from crushing bone, Wade’s mouth opened in a silent scream. With a few strokes of Peter’s hand, the bigger man froze entirely as pearlescent come fountained from him. When Wade slumped, the younger man released him and pulled free.

“Mmm.” Wade pawed lazily at Peter’s useless erection. “Love ya where ya pee at, baby boy.”

Peter punched him in the shoulder before throwing the condom away.

“Ready for your cage?”

Shame burst across his features. Wide-eyed he opened his hands to convey his confusion.

Wade shrugged. “Why do the birds butter and the butterflies buzz? Just the nature of the beast, Petey-pie. You’re getting off on being denied, and the wherefores don’t matter.”

After catching A Midsummer’s Night at The Blasted Heath, Peter and Wade giggled together as they walked home.

“Could’ve gone either way, baby boy.”

“The hell you say! Unlike so-o-ome people, I can keep my trap shut.”

With a harrumph Wade yanked his boyfriend to a stop. After nibbling a plush bottom lip, he pushed their lips flush until the smaller man parted his, allowing the kiss to deepen.

Ignoring the fact that he, indeed, could not keep his trap shut, Peter asked, “So since I didn’t go to work today, will I still get my afterwork spanking?”

“Of course not Petey!” Wade scoffed in an exaggerated display of indignation. “Otherwise we wouldn’t call them afterwork spankings.”

“Lemme guess, this is an after-not-work spanking?”

Wade smirked. “I prefer to call it an atheleisure spanking.”


	6. Day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same as it ever was: Wade challenges Peter's big beautiful brain as well as his glorious booty.

After an unexpected day off, punishments or no, plus a not-overly-eventful patrol and a full night’s sleep in his own bed, Peter’s subconscious had worked through a portion of Wade’s puzzle. “This took a lot of time and thought…”

Wade’s smirk didn’t change as he propped his head in his hands melodramatically.

“I don’t think you put this together for me.”

He raised a brow. “Who else would I make a bootcamp for, baby boy?”

“Sure wasn’t Priscilla.” Peter snorted at the thought, still mildly angry over the ways Cable used his boyfriend.

The same infernal asshole who repeated, “So why are we doing this?”

“I don’t know.” That admission came easier now that he’d unraveled the first knot. “But I will.” He quirked a grin at his lover. “May your boy have your correction for lying to you, Daddy?”

“Mmm, correction. I like that one.” Wade lifted Peter by his jaw and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. “Let me find my red pen.” He dropped the smaller man to swat at the boxes. “I meant to paint him red, Yellow, you asshole, not white. …Was too comprehensible. The readers know I didn’t mean you.”

“Don’t make me come in there.” Peter gave the boxes a glare. “Cuz I will.”

Well reacquainted with Peter’s Punishment Paddle™, Peter suffered through a drawn-out session that would have backed him down at the beginning of bootcamp. Sitting with great care he sorted his patrol photos from the week. Work on autopilot, his mind turned to the fact that Wade sacrificed his most violent joys to secure Peter’s trust. He appreciated it—he did—but he didn’t believe the bigger man found that adequate comfort.

“… exploded. Scrap metal everywhere. I finally got the point: one hoss don’t stand a chance against a paindealer, a firestarter, a deusjusticer, a timebearer, and a deatheater.” With a disgruntled grumble, Wade dropped into the armchair beside his lover’s desk. “Those dudes required a little more finesse, Petey-pie.”

“Finesse, huh?”

“Got the paindealer laughing. Oh, and you’ve never seen a deatheater look so betrayed.”

“Since I’ve never seen a deatheater?” Peter recognized the cause as lost when Wade’s thoughts ran off on such tangents, but he played along as he cropped a nice shot of them swinging toward a bank robbery.

“You woulda liked the deusjusticer; she reminded me a lot of Spangles. All righteous and shit.” He issued a scandalized gasp. “I think her and the deatheater both had a thing for the paindealer. Not so much a looker, but he knew how to make a girl’s heart go pitter patter.”

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Peter sang, triggering a full rendition of “Summer Nights” from Wade.

“So that paindealer? They were lookin’ at him like he hung the stars, baby boy. Sure, he mighta only had a few kills to his name, but torture? Let’s just say _I_ learned a few things.”

“How much of that have you used on me?”

Wade booped his crinkled nose. “Nowhere near as much as I will.”

Peter tapped send and submitted his work for the week. “Oh? Show me.” Yeah, he knew better, but at this point he simply didn’t care.

Fingers twined into the younger man’s hair, Wade tugged to expose his throat. He kissed along the vulnerable column, teeth grazing lightly where the tendons stood out in stark relief. “Do you trust me blindly, your flesh and soul entirely at my severely limited mercy, baby boy?” The hungry, lupine grin he wore belonged to someone else, the paindealer if Peter guessed correctly.

Dazed by the question alone, he nodded until he could find his voice. “Yes, Daddy.” Gravelly and rough, the words lacked their usual breathless purr.

“Excellent.” Wade steepled his fingers with an evil cackle. “In that case strip down, head to your corner, and calm your mind. Slow, deep breaths. Even that ginormous brain of yours won’t have room for anything but the present once we start.”

For the first few minutes Peter obeyed by rote, hands on elbows overhead, naked, taking slow and deliberate breaths, mind focused only on the now. Soon his mind wandered, requiring attention to redirect his thoughts to the rhythm of his respirations. Even so his mental landscape lay serene within him. His heart slowed. Though he heard the ex-merc’s approach, he remained languid, even as a blindfold cinched over his eyes, even as wide, strong silk secured his wrists.

Led from the corner by his bindings, he followed the circuitous route through their home. Meek and willing, he allowed himself to become disoriented. His heart trebled in pace. By the time his arms lifted toward the ceiling, he was hyperventilating oh so very slightly. On tiptoe he clung to his trussing; though he could easily break free, he waited for Wade’s instructions on how to escape. Words that never came.

Instead icy, gloved fingers trailed down his ribs.

He yelped in surprise. The chill sank deep, and he fought the urge to resist.

“Good boy.” The faint whisper came from everywhere and nowhere.

Slowly realization dawned in Peter’s mind as the lead-lined gloves leached more heat from his skin. This would hurt. As if to emphasize that fact, thumbs sank under his biceps until they caressed the underlying bone. The pressure point buzzed with an electric jolt.

A pleased hum rewarded his control.

The crushing touch sought his trapezius next, another pressure point, another jolt. Those seeking thumbs ran small circles to either side of his spine as they trailed lower. He relaxed into the massage, so the sting came as a surprise. A gasp jarred from him as agony blossomed across—

Another hit snapped through his flesh and seared his mind before he could even begin to process the first.

Light fast smacks landed everywhere at once, not so hard to be merciless, but so quick he couldn’t track them. The mass of the gloves added so much momentum, despite the low velocity. Each strike sank deep into his muscles.

Or his ribs. Those were the worst, the hollow thud as nerves smashed between metal and bone.

As fat tears scalded down his cheeks, Peter slumped against the silk restraints, his heels barely above the floor, his fingers gripping of their own accord while the burred hairs on his palms snagged in the fabric. Sobbing and disoriented, he wanted to scream it was too much, to beg Wade to stop. To allow his lover to witness his total devastation at the bigger man’s relentless torment.

“The sting of the suicide plant drips white-hot acid in a kiss that corrodes for one full year.” Wade sing songed the unfamiliar words, thus the smaller man doubted they were lyrics.

Peter felt that acid all the way to his marrow. The pain, all the pain in the world, it left him awed at the sheer power his boyfriend wielded.

“Be good for me, baby boy, so strong and brave.”

Yet the unseen hits reached critical mass, and Peter squawked in protest.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby boy. Sing for Daddy.”

Fire blasted across Peter’s ass. He whimpered, a pathetic confession of his broken state.

The next blow didn’t come and didn’t come and didn’t come—

Then a second real strike left Peter dangling, legs too weak to support him. He must have screamed, though he couldn’t say for certain. Indignant, he forced his weight back over his toes and pulled himself upright.

“Fuck, that’s so good, baby boy. I could die happy, watching you take everything I dish out.”

Pain spiked, rising, harsh. Again. And again. And again.

He relished the agony, his agony, a precious gift from his lover. Slow and steady, it stoked an irresistible heat in its wake, like brilliant winter sunlight through a glass window. Peter wanted to fucking roll in that blaze.

Wade obliged.

That warmth brought a wholeness that sated Peter’s soul. A ray of joy, he gulped it down like a man dying of thirst. Attuned to the infinite universe, he overflowed with pleasure. Another starburst of agony and then that giddy joy bubbled from his chest.

_Giggles?_ Peter was taking the beating of his lifetime, and all he could do was giggle?

Hopeless, blind, primal, irrational, he reveled in the inscrutable act of being alive. A deep breath, satisfying. His wail, no less so. Then the pleasure, deep and uncompromising. Last the tingles of ecstasy. They vined from each impact straight to his trapped and throbbing cock. Every heartbeat fed his yearning, until he shattered.

“Please, Daddy, I _need_.” No truer words had he ever spoken.

Wade landed another hard smack across the meatiest part of his thigh. “I know, Petey-pie; I know.”

The throb built to an ache that left Peter whining. He could barely allow his hands to remain tied overhead. His every cell screamed for him to break free and stop this torture.

This delicious agony, that he never wanted to end.

So Peter let the silk enforce his position. He allowed his cage to remained unbroken. He gave all of himself to Wade who continued the brutal assault of his quivering body.

“Thank you, Daddy; please don’t stop.”

Cock straining against Peter’s cage, it pulled cruelly against his balls. And he moaned, his need eclipsing all other thought. If he ever touched his erection, he’d keep pumping well after he started dry coming. So he permitted himself to be motionless as the wildfire between his legs became a consuming conflagration.

“Fuck, Daddy, I _need_,” he repeated.

Wade chuckled but the slow, steady blows continued. “Yes, baby boy, Daddy knows how bad you need to free all that luscious come. Can you be my good, tough boy just a few minutes longer, sweetie Petey?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

No blood tinged the air, but it whooshed through Peter’s ears. Desire and sweat hung heavy around them, a promise of rapture yet to come. Swollen and aching, his cock fought a losing battle for freedom that only left him more desperate. His bruised body pounded with hopeless _need _that pooled at his core. The anguish proved both more than he could stand and so engrossing he longed to remain in its kaleidoscope of torment.

A high squeal fell from his pleading lips. “Daddy, please, fuck me! Please! I’ll do anything you want, be anyone you want; just fill me.” A cramp rolled through him, and he hitched in his bindings. “Please, Daddy, I fucking _need_ you inside me, _need _to fucking come before I bust. Please!” He resented his high helpless whine. “Hurt me, Daddy. Please, I need the catharsis. I need the pain to scorch me clean.” Not absolution or benediction, _catharsis_.

Right. That wasn’t mortifying or anything.

Purged of everything but joy at his oneness with the universe, a spiritual purity settled into him, and his whinging chant fell silent. He sagged, content to hang from his wrists, weightless yet infinitely dense. Euphoric, bled of his anxiety and fear, free from even the intense pain that brought him here, Peter floated outside reality, unreachable by time.

Behind the blindfold, his eyes drifted closed.

Peter barely registered Wade’s voice, his careful guidance to their bed, his comforting weight beside the smaller man. By the time he returned to minimal operating capacity, Wade sat against the headboard, trembling, his brow knitted low and tight.

“’S not a bad sign. He’s just taking a while to recover.”

“I’m okay, Yellow.” Peter rolled toward the bigger man and pressed his face to his lover’s abs. “Anybody get the number of that truck?”

“Mmm, baby boy, you already got my number.” Reverent he stroked Peter’s face with far more gentleness than such big, hard, cruel hands should be able to create.

Blissed out of his mind, Peter didn’t have the energy to roll his eyes as he turned to follow that familiar touch.

Wade grumbled, “I know he wasn’t wearing socks, but we definitely knocked them off.”

“It’s an idiom, Yellow. Just means I’m impressed.” Peter flashed a lazy-hazy smile.

“See.” Wade huffed at the box. “Asshole.” He petted across his lover’s cheek, one of the few places on Peter that didn’t ache. “Can you sit up to drink some water?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he replied. Except his muscles refused. He rolled to an elbow, head lolling.

“Yeah, mighta pushed the envelope a bit. …Screw you; we didn’t exceed his specific excess power. He’s definitely spec’ed for maximum effort.” Even as he argued with his boxes, Wade steadied Peter’s head and poured a sip of water into his mouth. “Our baby boy is a fighter jet, not a Cessna.”

“Thanks, I think,” Peter muttered, his brain fog lifting at a miserably slow pace. Another splash and he swallowed what Wade gave him. “Mmm, taking care of me. ’S nice.” A little more water and he was allowed to slump back against the pillows, coming to rest at an awkward angle but unwilling to move again.

Wade let out a deep chuckle that resonated through Peter. “Oh, and what happened to this great need you had, smoochiekins? Hmm? Seems someone _needed_ to either fuck or be fucked. Which was it again?”

The mere thought made Peter groan. “Later, Daddy?”

Indulgent, his lover curled around him. “Your wish, baby boy.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna bet you’re feeling more leisure-ie than athletic-ie for after lunch,” Wade teased from the kitchen, where a pepper-and-soy aroma originated.

Peter set the current issue of _The International Journal of Biochemistry and Cell Biology_ on the side table; the new findings on apoptotic cell death in arterial plaque gave him a few ideas of possible future therapies to enhance the life in a person’s years. However his allover physical misery wouldn’t let him dwell in his creative mind for long. “Doubt I have any endorphins built up yet, big guy.”

“All the more reason to worship that booty, cutie patootie.”

He giggled, still a bit high. Oh, Thor’s hammer, that hurt.

“Japanese pepper steak with dragon rolls, up in ten.”

“Thank you, Daddy. May your boy set the table?” Peter grinned like a loon, imagining the soft awe those words brought out in his boyfriend.

Wade sang, “Oh, baby, you know what I like,” before replying, “That would be nice. We never set the table.”

“Do I?” Peter asked as he struggled to stand. Ouch. Just fucking ouch.

“Do you what?”

He shuffled into the kitchen with great effort. “Know what you like?”

Sprinkling toasted black sesame seeds over the sushi, Wade shrugged. “It’s ongoing. A learning process. Ya know, one of those things you like.”

“Tell me one thing I don’t know yet,” Peter challenged.

“I have the Muramusa sword in one of my pouches.” Wade glanced up then, surprised by his own admission.

Peter snickered. “What does that mean to me, Wade?”

The older man blanched. “Means everything, Petey-pie. It can kill Wolvie.”

“…Which means it can kill you. Which means—” A flash of panic tore through Peter. “I, I, I don’t want out—I adore you—but if I ever did—”

“No, no, no, Peter! Oh, no, I’d never want to trap you if you didn’t want me!” Wade wrapped around him, comforting. “It means I’m here with you of my own free will, baby boy. Nothing more and nothing less.”

It definitely meant Wade had chosen Peter over Death, but so many other possibilities loomed. Though well matched, White was right; he and Wade were codependent, each finding their stability from the solid link between them. If something severed that link, how long would Wade survive White and Yellow’s relentless assaults?

Feeling tiny and despondent, Peter also wondered if Wade’s sentiments were entirely true or merely what the bigger man believed about himself. He’d told Peter multiple, conflicting biographies, none saner than any other. His memories shifted; his reality fluctuated. The way he spoke of timelines and multiverses, of fanfics and mythical stories never imagined in reality, the younger man knew his lover believed every word. Hell, for all Peter knew, they could all be true. Even the half-dozen bone-chilling ways he, or versions of him, killed Peter.

With his Spidey sense quiet while Wade hugged him close, Peter let his questions go. He’d take the affection and damn the consequences, even if it cost his life. As much as Wade needed someone who could dodge bullets, Peter needed a lover he couldn’t break on accident.

_Kill. You mean one you can’t kill._ He allowed a moment of pain before he shoved the odious memories to the back of his mind.

When the pan on the burner started to smoke, he pointed. “Fire.”

“Wha—? Oh, right, yeah, steak. A bit on the well-done side, but we’ll tough it out.” Wade gave a hale laugh. “Get it? Tough?”

“For fuck’s sake, Wade, just—” Peter felt that manic grin from earlier settle into place. “Daddy, hurry! Your baby boy will eat whatever you feed him, but it’s not nice to make it ickier than it has to be.”

“Yes, sweet princeling, for the love of all that’s good and holey like your sweet ass, I’ve got it off the heat.” The big man laughed then, raucous and out of sync. “Well, of course he would. And we’ll do it. After we fuel the bodies you assholes don’t have.”

The entire time they ate, Peter squirmed while Wade wore his I’ve-got-a-secret smile.

After swallowing his last forkful, Peter said, “Thank you, Daddy. It was better than—” Hauled up by his beltloops, he let his faint praise die on his lips. Jeans shoved to his knees, bare ass over Wade’s lap, the younger man gasped at his sudden exposure. “That was—”

“Hush now, baby boy,” the older man cooed. “Just let Daddy make it all better.” He spread a cool soothing gel over both globes and massaged it in.

Peter sighed his appreciation. “I thought this was supposed to be a leisurely spanking, not a massage.”

That shark’s grin reappeared. Without a word Wade shifted gears, landing light, fast swats. He grew harder at Peter’s side, while the younger’s eager length strained against its restraints. Peter didn’t fight the frustrated tears, simply let them fall as his arousal grew intolerable.

The begging began in his head long before those same despairing pleas fell from his lips: “Please, Daddy, fuck me. I need you so much. Please. Hurt me, rip me, crush me; just so long as you take me.” As the mellow spanking continued, his cries for release devolved to chanting, “Hurts. Hurts so much. Please make it stop, Daddy. Please. The ‘nads hurt. So much. Fuck, Daddy, please, Daddy… Please…!”

The flow of invocations continued even as Wade positioned his cock to breech his lover and let Peter sink to his lap.

“There now, baby boy. Daddy’s got ya. ’S okay. Won’t leave you to suffer, my sweet boy.”

A tiny snick, and Peter’s cock sprang free. Joyful, his flow of tears redoubled. “Thank you thank you thank you…”

His sniffle drew a soft moan from Wade. “Oh, fuck me, Petey-pie, if that ain’t the sexiest sight in the world. I love it when you cry for me. When you trust me with your tears. Fuck, baby, it’s no fair for you to be that beautiful.”

“’M ugly cryin’,” Peter mumbled, “and we both know it.”

“I’m just ugly, and it doesn’t change a damned thing.” The bigger man placed a simple kiss an inch under Peter’s ear and nuzzled along his neck.

“Whatever you want. Just take me.”

“You’re letting me… Oh!” Mouth round with surprise, Wade hitched and gasped.

Preening at the compliment of the big man coming before he was ready to end their game, Peter shook and clenched as Wade emptied into his willing flesh. Throbbing so hard he cramped in time to his raging heart, he ignored his deep want, his desire melded with that of his sated lover. “Thank you, Daddy. Was I a good boy?”

“The best. Always the best for me.” Wade placed a feather-light tickle along his boy’s aching shaft, which drizzled precome over their thighs. “So very good.”

Wrecked, wordless, wretched with need, Peter clung to his boyfriend’s powerful forearms.

“That’s right, baby boy: no touchie.” Even through his oversensitive refractory, Wade never stopped impaling the smaller man’s shivering, yielding form.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir, may I—Daddy, may I come now? Please?” Peter rolled into Wade’s infuriatingly slow thrusts. “Please, Daddy, pl—Oh! Oh!” His every hope caved into one desolate wish. His body peaked, eager for release, but his mind savored the sweet agony of his need.

“Beg me, baby boy.” Wade froze mid stroke and slowly settled.

Peter started up his litany again.

“Beg me to cage you. If you want me to grant you any release today, fucking beg for your cage.”

Forlorn and miserable with his urge to fully empty, Peter opened his mouth, and only a tiny, mournful keen emerged.

“You want release today, my sweet?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter choked on the admission, his heart thrashing in his chest.

What did it matter? He allowed himself to fall into this pit, and fair or no, he’d fight through bootcamp out of sheer stubborn will. Yet he whimpered again, like he’d lost his best friend in the last ten seconds.

“Are you strong enough to wait a few hours, my sweet tortured pet?”

“Yes, Daddy.” He wondered if that were true.

“Can you keep your hands off without your cage?”

Bawling outright, he hiccupped, “No, Daddy,” between his uninhibited sobs.

“Then do what you need to do.”

“Daddy, will you cage your boy’s neglected cock so he’s not tempted to fuck up? Please, Daddy? Please?” At the click of the latch, Peter actually sighed in relief. “Thank you, Daddy. I needed that.” He clung to Wade as he tolerated the denial. A few more hours. To please Daddy. “Anything to make you proud.”

Peter knew that was his loss of his father and his Uncle Ben speaking, but he didn’t care. In that moment he lived to please his lover, craved the bliss of earned praise. He could ignore the psychology of their relationship until later, maybe forever. Did he even want to know?

However the physiology of their game roared under his skin, a potent cocktail of endogenous chemicals. Sure, his balls ached but no worse than anything else. No, for the last hour he’d been jerked from a relaxing massage to exposed and spanked to a gentle coupling. Once teased to the edge of release, he begged for the cage, the exact last thing he wanted of the older man. And how the hell Wade had talked him into that, Peter couldn’t remember.

He yearned for that rapturous moment when Wade finally allowed him release.

Nothing alleviated Peter’s cravings. He spent the afternoon on a shortened patrol while fighting off his blinding need. Thirsty for the soul-quenching pleasure Wade would wring from his body, he found himself on a roof, whingeing. He knelt to implore mercy from his lover. Cheek to the gravel rooftop, ass covered but presented to the man who claimed him, he groveled before the only bastard who was listening.

“Shh, Petey, let’s get you home. Can you swing us there?”

A high, wordless misery bled from him.

“Can you wait long enough for me to carry you home, baby boy?”

He threw himself into Wade’s arms with a sniffle. “Barely.”

True to his word Peter peeled off his shirt before his feet touched the carpet in their apartment. Once bare, he stood before the ex-merc. “May your boy come yet?”

Still in his Deadpool suit, that smarmy grin raised every fine hair on Peter’s body. “So close but not yet. Ask me for what you want.”

“Daddy, may your boy come.”

“Well, he might could but he’s caged.” Wade didn’t move a muscle to strip or free Peter.

The younger man thought he’d die of need as his mind rebelled. “Then what the fuck do you want me to do?”

Finger waggling Wade tutted. “Unh-uh-uh. Good boys ask nicely for what they want from their Daddy, and good boys get what they ask for.”

A few seconds and Peter thought he understood the rules. “May your boy have his cage removed, please?” His limbs shook as he added _Daddy_ a moment too late to prevent the harsh smack across his welted ass. “Please, Daddy, may your boy be rid of this damned cage, sir, please, Daddy? Ple-e-ease?” Good gravy, he sounded like such a needy little slut. Nothing had ever made his guts knot quite like the reckless lust of that wretched appeal for mercy.

Still it earned his freedom, penis swinging free if only for the moment. And his gratitude spilled from him like oil from a ruptured tanker, the sensation just as greasy and dark. Humiliated by his contrived supplication to Wade’s whims, he begged for his lover’s touch with obedient abandon.

A leather glove barely caressed his hard shaft, and Peter jerked from the overstimulation.

“No, no, no-no-no! I need that touch; it can’t be too much! Wade, fix it! Fix! It!” Horrified, he watched Deadpool as if the ex-merc had all the answers of all the gods. “Fix my cock, Wade.”

“Rude.” The mask grinned, the menace making Peter’s guts twist. “Nothing’s broken, my sweet little honey giblet. You’re perfectly fine, my marmalade dumpling. Put your trust in ol’ Poolie, my snickerdoodle of lust.”

Reluctant to release his panic, Peter couldn’t stop the small smile that broke across his face. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re so horny I keep expecting you to shoot blood out your eyes, though horny toads aren’t toads at all; they are liz—”

Peter grabbed him by the _O_-ring on his collar and yanked him down to Peter’s eye level. “Not the time to ramble, Daddy. If I don’t get my rocks off, I’m gonna break all your everythings. Real. Damn. Slow.”

“Mmm, feisty.” Wade knelt and pressed the softest of kitten licks along the smaller man’s hyperreactive cock. He sucked it down to the hilt, pulled back to ask, “’S alright?” and swallowed Peter down again.

“’S amazing,” the smaller man gasped between moans.

That made Wade snicker and their game was over. “Time to put this away so we don’t spoil your appetite for later.”

“No, Daddy, now, please!”

“Sorry, sweetness, rude boys don’t get to come.”

A full minute of begging later, Peter’s erection flagged enough to allow the cage to sit properly over his cock. He sobbed quietly as Wade gently locked him away. Eventually he calmed enough to be curious. “Where’d ya get those gloves?”

Wade peeled them from his hands. “Stole ’em from the paindealer, since the author never let him use ’em.”

“Author, hm?” Peter wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Well, yeah, I mean,” Wade explained as he handed the smaller man a tissue, “I’m glad this is a Porn without Plot and all, but once it expanded from a one shot, I had to know what to expect in this fic since the tags never got updated.”

“Obviously.” Peter decided to play along. “So what do you expect?”

“Lots of impact play and whatever kinks my perverted little heart desires.”

“Oh? Is there any pleasure your boy may offer?”

“Anyone ever tell you how hot you are when you’re all prim and proper? …Mmm, yes, we should play sexy librarian tomorrow!”

Peter chuckled with gentle, patient fondness. “I meant this exact second, Daddy. May your boy offer any service or stimulus to help Daddy find his own joy?”

“You are my joy. The apple of my eye. The peach of my pie. The small of my die.” Wade huffed at the air over Peter’s head. “He most certainly is our _la petite mort_. …White, just explain it to him.”

After a long patrol, Wade’s homemade tacos, and an hour of mindless Netflix drivel, Wade moved from the couch to his reading chair. “About ready for bed, baby boy?” he asked as he flicked on the blinding lamp.

At that innocent question Peter’s stomach dropped. Sore and tired and so horny he could taste it, he didn’t want to ask for another punishment. Yet Helen sat on the table beside Wade’s recliner. After the paddling and the beating and the heartless denials, that evil damned bitch would have him screaming.

“Something wrong?” Wade’s smirk said he knew exactly what was bothering Peter.

He swallowed his fear. “Daddy, may your boy be gifted a reminder for him to be obedient, respectful, honest, and careful?”

The bigger man patted his thighs with his hands. “C’mere and accept what you’ve earned first.”

_Shit, what now? _Peter cocked his head, certain even he couldn’t endure the backbend of his chest and thighs on the chair’s arms while Helen scorched the space in between. “Um, sir? Daddy, how am I supposed…?” He stepped forward regardless of his concerns.

“Sit in Daddy’s lap and I’ll show ya.”

Despite his anxiety over the pain to come, Peter obeyed without question. Naked, his lover between his knees, he nuzzled into the crotch between Wade’s neck and shoulder.

“Other way, dollface. Put your head by my feet with your legs wide. Want both those bootylicious cheeks in Daddy’s lap so at least one of us is sitting comfy.”

Reluctant but willing, the younger man positioned himself as instructed. If he moved a bit slower than he might have, that was no one’s business but his own. Accustomed to being upside down, the blood rushing to his head didn’t bother him. However the pose left him more exposed and vulnerable than he had been all week.

Gentle hands traced over the dark marks that had become a normal part of Peter. “Yeah, just like bongos.” Wade snickered but sobered quickly. “You were rude earlier, baby boy. By all rights I should’ve upended you right that second, but we were a bit preoccupied. So let’s get your punishment outta the way before we get to your correction.”

“But I didn’t get to come; wasn’t that my…” Shaking, if not scared then fully awed, Peter corrected his course. Anticipatory tears blurred his vision. In his meekest voice, he answered, “Yes, Daddy.”

“So why are you being punished, my little sugarplum?”

Peter huffed. “I said something rude.” He struggled and failed to refrain from protesting, “But… I always say something rude. It’s like my thing.”

“And you’ll be punished each and every time you’re rude to _me_.” Wade kept up the soft caress of his ass and thighs. “I know you were stressed, but it still doesn’t excuse bad behavior.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Fuck, this was going to be a long-term issue if he had to learn to keep his sharp wit to himself. …O-o-oh, or an excuse. He wasn’t expected to bite his tongue; he was expected to fuck up often enough to keep the game afoot. The thought brought a giggle.

“Laugh it up, my sweet little pet, but no matter where we are or who is there, next time I’ll snatch you over my knee so fast your head will spin. You agreed to follow four tiny rules and to allow me to enforce them, correct?”

Peter sobered quickly. “Yes, Daddy.” He sniffled, his nose clogged with tears.

“Did you ask for exceptions when other people might see?”

He heard the implied request for permission. “No, Daddy, I’ll take my punishment however Daddy sees fit.” A well-raised young man, he still realized how hard it would be to mind his manners around the overwhelming ex-merc, particularly as he ground through the torturous bootcamp.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Peter’s anxiety spiked. They’d never been quiet this long. The man who dominated his life wanted something from him, awaited a reaction, but he wasn’t certain what.

Ultimately his pattern recognition center kicked in. “Miss Helen, would you help Daddy’s bad boy remember to be respectful?” His lungs seized at the question, both certain and terrified of his lover’s answer.

Wade’s pleased and salacious hum brought an unanticipated sense of pride to the younger man’s chest, and cock, making him draw a shuddery breath. “She’ll be glad to, my precious doe-eyed honey badger. Remember to keep count and to express your gratitude for her help. Time to ask for your first kiss.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Miss Helen…?” He would do this, dammit; if only because his submission amused Wade. No, he realized, each success made Daddy proud not only of his boy’s endurance but also of how much torment the younger man would accept and still place his full faith in a man who’d seldom known love and trust before Peter. He licked his lips and tried again: “Miss Helen, may this boy have his first kiss?”

The first smack, though no harder than usual, brought a howl and a curse. If his forearms weren’t supporting his upper body, his hands would be rubbing the fresh mark. Panting, fighting against gritted teeth, he ground out, “One… Thank you, Miss Helen… May I have another?”

“Not just yet,” Wade replied.

“Daddy?” What could he have possibly done wrong? Surely the older man knew he wouldn’t be able to summon more enthusiasm for this brutal punishment.

“Three things: Unclench those buh-tocks before Daddy has to run out to buy ginger root. That’s better. You don’t get to use personal pronouns during corrections, much less punishments—”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“—and don’t ask for the next one until you’re ready.”

Peter nodded his understanding.

Voice gentle, Wade reminded him, “Use your words, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Can you tell me your safe word?”

The question chilled Peter. “Yes, Daddy, pineapple.”

“What do you say if you need me to stop?”

“Pineapple, Daddy.” Though reminders that he was splayed across Wade’s lap voluntarily, the questions reinforced Peter’s mental shields, prepared him to endure any torment Wade might heap upon him. _Too tough for your own good_, echoed in his mind.

Once Peter asked for, received, and expressed his gratitude for nineteen more stingers with the hairbrush, he hesitated before requesting another. “Um, Daddy, how many strokes?”

Wade’s chuckle conveyed both indulgence and amusement. “As many as you think you deserve, baby boy. Can you refrain from being rude to Daddy yet?”

_I could have called that at any second? Oh, fuck you, Wilson._ “Daddy, since I’m not currently cursing you up one side and down the other _aloud_, pretty sure I’m already showing that restraint.”

His lover replied with two quick taps on each abused cheek.

Squalling, Peter forced out a more acceptable answer: “Ple-e-ease, Da-addy, ’m s-s-sorry. Yes’ir, Da-addy, sir, yes, I ca-a-an be the most polite-est boy in th-th-the world.” By the time he caught his breath, he decided to add, “Thank you, Daddy, for… for…” Shit. He started again, “Thank you for helping your boy be good for you.”

“So very good,” Wade whispered with awe. “Let’s both get comfy before we break out Peter’s Punishment Paddle ™, hmm? Maybe move to the bed?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Though graceless and inefficient, Peter relied on his legs to lift him enough to spin around and hug his lover.

“…So hot. …I know. Expected him to have to squirm to the floor like anyone else.” Whatever the boxes said next made the big man giggle. “Stand up and walk, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” The Pavlovian response drew a flash of heat from Peter’s face to his chest even as his dick strained to rise to full staff. Now standing, he pressed his thighs together as if it would quell the desire. “If he’s good, may your boy have a ruined orgasm tonight?”

“Daddy’ll think about it, sweetcheeks.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

When the time came, that hope allowed Peter to summon enough enthusiasm to kiss his paddle, though it more resembled a two-by-four in his reeling mind. Heavy thuds replaced the earlier cracks, as each blow sank into his backside. Pain ameliorated by endorphins, he had no idea of how long, or how many, or even how hard. All he could say for certain was, “Please, Daddy, I _need_ to come! Please!”

“Okay, baby, just lay back and let Daddy take care of your release.”

Already floating, Peter sank into the pillows with a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so very much.” The snick of unlocking his cage made him sob, even as he continued his litany of gratitude.

Wade blew across his bare cock, and Peter shivered from head to toe. Eyes pressed tightly closed, a sensual moan seeped from him as coolness was spread over his eager cock. Then warmth and weight eased slowly over his weeping erection until Wade’s ass rested flush. The younger man fought with all he had to keep from coming from even the slightest rocking while Wade’s fist pumped his own length with a soft squelch.

“Seek your relief, my sweet princeling of spidery love, but ask for permission to come about thirty seconds before you think you will.”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you thank you thank you…” Brimming with appreciation Peter thrust into his lover’s welcoming body. Less than a dozen strokes and he jerked to a halt. “’M so close, Daddy. May your boy come?”

Wade was off his cock before he finished speaking. “Suck Daddy off first.” Before Peter could moan in disappointment, the older man added, “Then Daddy will take care of you. Promise, baby boy, I promise. Just another minute, my good, sweet, patient boy.”

Frantic Peter scrambled into reach of Wade’s cock. “Yes, Dad—”

His words cut off as he swallowed down the bigger man’s girth until his nose pressed hard against the man’s groin. Tongue fluttering, cheeks hollowed, lips tight over teeth, humming as loud as he could manage, he showcased every trick he knew to impress upon his beloved exactly how eager and thankful he was for this chance to relieve the constant pressure he’d endured all day. In that frantic moment of slurping and drooling, he needed Wade’s pleasure more than he needed air.

“Fuck, Pete—”

Peter swallowed, greedy for every drop.

“That’s good. …Enough. …Leggo, baby.” Wade jerked free. “Shh, sweet one, shh.” He wrapped his fist around Peter’s aching length. “Shh, baby, you’ve more than earned this.”

Ragdoll slack Peter leaned back and enjoyed his reward.

“I won’t stop. Just tell me when you’re close. Okay, sweetness, just tell Daddy first.”

Peter’s standard reply came out in a slur as he groaned in delight. When his balls drew up and his face heated, he gasped out, “’M gonna—I’m—” He struggled to stop his impending climax long enough to speak, but it was no use.

As he passed the point of no return, lips sealed around the head of his cock. Convulsing with the force of his orgasm, Peter continued to spray come in vibrant pulses. Though ruined, that had to be the most intense orgasm the smaller man had ever experienced. His legs flexed and spasmed involuntarily as he spent his load.

He lay motionless and heavy against the pillows, barely able to catch his breath. In a husky whisper, he mumbled, “Thank you. Wade. That was… amazing.” His entire chest resonated with the bigger man’s laughter.

“Best blowjob ever.”

At this point the younger man knew better than to even touch his dick. He’d taken to allowing Daddy to tend his cock. Wade brought him to a full erection before his showers and then washed his yearning length afterward, before returning him to his cage.

“So tired. Daddy, will you clean me up and put me away?”

“Be right back.” Wade sounded tired too, but he returned with a soapy cloth and a basin of fresh water. While he washed Peter he sang Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” “Throw your soul through every open door. Count your blessings to find what you look for. Turned my sorrow into treasured gold. You pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow.” One hardly audible click and that cage again protected Peter’s shaft from all unintended stimulation. Not even a breeze touched him without Wade’s permission.

The younger man delighted in that claim his lover had staked over his body.

“There, perfect. …Peter’s perfect peter.”

Peter let his chin fall to his chest in mock pique. “You are the worst.”

“I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, my love.”

“You are. You really, really are.” Enamored with the big goofball—well, a goof when he wasn’t showing off his mastery of sex or death—the smaller man rubbed his nose against his lover’s stubble-free cheek. “I love you so much I think it might kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow, I've been busy catching up on work. Because I kept writing Spideypool chapters instead of editing. Like a bad little Editrix of the Deep Dark Woods.
> 
> Why, yes, yes, I have been sitting gingerly for that screw up; thanks for asking.
> 
> So time for me to be good. Which means one chapter a week. At best.
> 
> Sorry but the bruised behind has spoken: No more encouragement, please; I'll be good.


	7. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yellow comes out to play.

On his knees before he was allowed to leave their bedroom, Peter awaited the dreaded question. He knew he’d survived worse injuries, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember another occasion when every inch below his neck hurt. Yesterday had been hell, and this was the first week of four. Again he considered screaming pineapple, and again he decided he could hold out one more day. Emotions running high, he centered his mind, concentrated on his breathing, and hoped for the strength to survive another day of brutal affection.

_Of things Deadpool loves_, he realized.

“Why are we doing this?” Wade asked.

“It’s you. You’re the one. This bootcamp was designed with you in mind.” Peter wheezed out a harsh laugh. “We’re doing this because…? You want it…? You want me to do these things to you?”

“You’re not incorrect but, no, wrong answer.” The bigger man strode close enough to tower over his lover. “Gotta admit that was my first thought when your brain latched onto this question. But after real soul searching, nope, not even close enough for no cigar. Wanna try again or assume the position?”

Knocked for a loop by that answer, Peter forced himself through the motions of walking to the chair, dropping his sweats and underwear, then bending over to grip the seat. A sob burst from his chest, pure frustration from the injury and injustice of another paddling while he questioned how he’d gotten everything so wrong that he imagined a puzzle. _I started looking for greater meaning where there was none? All that torture was entirely me? Crap, now he’s taken my paranoia and made into exactly what I dreaded?_

_Bite my ass, Wilson. When I’m back on top your scarred, hairless hide is mine, big boy. You wanna be on the receiving end? You got it._

“Such a good boy,” Wade cooed. “So good. I’m so proud of how strong you are.”

Ignoring the older man’s efforts to placate him, Peter asked, “Daddy, will you correct your boy so he remembers not to lie to you?” He cringed at his snide tone, but it was too late to start over now.

“Anything for you, baby boy.”

Wood brushed his lips, and he again kissed Peter’s Punishment Paddle ™. A first tap and his relief at its gentleness nearly brought him to tears again. Of course, the force ramped up, soon exceeding what he could take in stoic silence. Fury, devotion, indignation, passion, and a dozen more emotions, each too strong to contain on its own, they spun in his mind like a typhoon. He knew he was blubbering like some spoiled brat denied a promised treat, but he’d failed to control similar tearful outbursts dozens of times already, so he didn’t bother trying to contain the sobs. Like the pain, he accepted his loss of control, let his emotions steamroll him under as Wade worked him over _yet again_.

He didn’t realize he’d been begging for his correction to end until Wade asked, “Can you take five more for me?”

“Yes, sir.” Peter sniffled, heartbroken and lost. “Yes, Daddy.”

_One._ _Fuck, oh fuck, that hurts._

_Two._ “No more.”

Wade asked, “Do you wanna safeword, sweet boy?”

“No, Dad—”

_Fuck, three, fucking three. Fuckin’ two more. Damn you, Daddy._

“What was that, Petey-pie?”

_Oh, shit. _“Nothing, Daddy, nothing. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—”

_Four_. “—ry— Ow, fuck! Daddy, I’m so fucking sorry, Dad—”

_Five._ “—dy. Fuck, that hurt! Mercy, Daddy! Fuckin’ please, please have mercy! Please—”

“Shh, baby. You’re okay. Do you want to safeword to delay your punishment?”

End this now, no repercussions, Peter gave it serious consideration. He probably should but the very idea injured his pride. “No, Daddy.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Please correct your boy for his rudeness, so he remembers to be polite in the future.” That request came out sincere, humble, and contrite.

“Here, hold this.” When Peter outstretched his hand, Wade pressed something light and squishy into his grasp, a foam ball. “Keep your arm out. If it gets too much, just drop the ball. Hell, if it gets too much, you’ll drop it whether you want to or not. Understand, baby boy?”

Burning up with shame, Peter understood perfectly: Wade didn’t trust he’d safeword to protect the former merc’s most cherished person. “Yes, Daddy.” The younger man didn’t protest as he was straightened up nor as he was aligned across his lover’s lap, his legs dangling with his pants still caught at his ankles. “Thank you for not snatching this away from me, Daddy.” Or at least that was what he’d intended to say. When the bigger man kept shushing him, he wondered what left his mouth. “Daddy?”

Two hands brushed across his backside. “Shh, Petey, lemme look, ’kay?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Absolute work of art.” Wade breathed the words with awe. “Well, I mean, wolf spiders might howl. …You think so?”

Peter hoped he was asking White’s opinion instead of Yellow’s. Pressure roved across his ass, but between the numbness and stinging, the younger man couldn’t make out much more.

Eventually Wade muttered, “Yeah, I see it.” He slipped a hand between Peter’s legs. “Scooch that way, honey bunch. White says you’ll bleed if I don’t pick a fresh spot.”

Nudged forward by thumps to his cage, Peter rested his cheek on the floor while his thighs lay across his boyfriend’s lap, his lower legs dangling without support and his ball arm curled near his chin. “Thank you, White. Thank you, Daddy.”

“Gotta be mindful of my baby boy’s soft limits.” Wade let loose an evil cackle. “Unless you want to go there.”

“Not today, Daddy, but can we…” Peter’s wistful tone left him confused; did he want to bleed for Wade or did bootcamp have him dazed again already? “Let’s talk about it once I’m… not ass up over your lap, ready to be punished for cursing my beloved Daddy.” He chuckled, warming to their game now that fresh brain chemicals flowed freely. “Please, Daddy. If you don’t make me scream, how will I ever learn?”

Wade sputtered, then choked. “Fuck me sideways—”

“Glad to, Daddy, if my fuck_ee_ would just uncage my fuck_er_.” So much worse his usual puns, Peter couldn’t decide if he were proud or ashamed. He hated how even this playful bootcamp made him feel so uncertain. He let out a small but sharply annoyed huff. “I’ve been horny since you first locked me in here, and it’s agony. Sweet, beautiful, romantic torture. A special hellish torment every second of every day.” Humping against Wade’s thighs in search of anything resembling stimulation, he keened in his desperation. “Or fuck me. Sideways, upside down, on the ceiling. Whatever you want, however you want it.”

“Damn, baby boy, am I dead? Is this heaven?”

“Make me howl like a spider, Daddy.” Peter giggled, then wondered if he might be a bit high. Else he’d fallen so far down Wade’s rabbit hole that they were both mad as hatters.

“…Exactly right, one way to find out. Arm up, sweet boy.”

As soon as Peter obeyed, a handprint of fire blazed just under the curve of his blistered ass, a scant inch from the bruised marks that made sitting such an interestingly difficult chore lately. _No sitting today_, he realized. _Mmm, a quiet Sunday in bed with my boyfriend? Worse things have happened to better spiders._

Nine more smacks, and the next hit thudded all the way to both femurs. _Paddle._ Peter jerked and grunted but then relaxed back into position even as he panted. He clutched the ball, determined to take what he’d earned. The next blow, he grunted louder, took longer to resume his lax position. By the fourth, his arm felt so very heavy; it waivered as he yelped. By the time he screamed in earnest, he’d lost count.

“Mmm, yes, oh gods bedamned, Petey, yes, sing for me!”

Unable to hold back even if he wanted to, Peter yowled as his sit spot blossomed from roaring sting to stunning agony. He calmed to a subdued squall, only to scream again in the next breath. Calm and scream, scream and calm. His measure of time contracted to a spike of pain and the tapering off before the next peak. Nothing existed before the last surge or after the next one. The universe itself contracted until only he and Wade existed.

Alone in their bubble, where pain thrummed like a beating heart, their shared experience introduced Peter to both profound emotional freedom and mental peace. While his outside jerked from violence, his inside lay placid, no concerns, focus solely on accepting the agony he couldn’t control.

“So good for me,” Wade murmured. He pulled Peter upright and hugged him tight. “Jeez, baby boy, do you have to latch onto every insane idea from my fucked-up brain. Not just do it, but do it with fuckin’ vigor, all the fuckin’ passion. Are you a genie, baby boy? Some insane wishmaster who has to pervert every wish you fulfill? …I told you I know he’s not an angel; doesn’t mean he can’t be a demon, fallen specifically to get my hopes up.”

“Wade.” Palms to either side of his beloved’s face, unsure if the man were joking or on the edge of slipping from reality, he brought their gazes to meet. “Wade, look at me. I’m just Peter. Plain ol’ boring Peter Parker.”

“Don’t say that!” Wade issued a mocking gasp. “There’s nothing boring about Daddy’s lil’ demon.”

Joking. He was joking. “White, little help?” Anxiety relenting, Peter put on his most beatific and innocent expression.

“…Fine. Not my own personal Petey-pie–shaped demon. But ya gotta admit, he’s the embodiment of perfection.”

Breaking eye contact, Peter blushed hot at the tips of his ears. “Thank you, Daddy.” Voice as wrecked as his ass, he practically purred for Wade as he teased, “’Bout time you noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed.” He snorted. “Noticed that fine ass.” A soothing touch grazed the abused flesh. “Noticed how much I want your delectable boo-tay milkin’ my trouser trout for all it’s worth. Noticed how hard that badonkulous hiney makes my purple helmeted warrior of love. Notic—”

“Do it.” Peter smirked. “Your warrior absolutely should bonestorm my demon keep, breech my gates, plunder my pleasure treasure—” Slung over his lover’s shoulder, Peter shrieked high and feminine while playfully pounding his fists into the bigger man’s back. “Help, help, sa-a-ave me! Protect my virginal peaches from defilement! Help! Won’t someone rescue a spider in distress from being brutalize by this brute? Save my pea-ea-eaches!”

Wade tossed him onto the bed. “Oh, I’ll save you, baby boy. Won’t nothing be virginal when I’m through plundering your booty. Least of all your juicy peaches.”

With the smaller man’s legs forced wide, Wade placed a kiss to his taint and worked slowly back, allowing Peter time to decide if he wanted to protest. At the first touch of tongue to rim, Peter’s squirming inner germophobe got summarily and massively outvoted by every other impulse in his body. Even his resting nerd brain got in on the action: _Healthy gastrointestinal fauna remain healthy gastrointestinal fauna, no matter which end they inhabit._ He rolled to his stomach to give his lover better access.

Joy. Bliss. Heaven.

“Mmm, Daddy.” Peter groaned, mindless from each careful delve of talented muscle into his overworked core. “If I’d known it would feel like this… oh, this… mmm, this perfect…” What was the destination of this derailed train of thought? Oh, right: “If I’d known—oh, do that again—then I’d have let you—oh, so good—let you eat me out ages ago.” His gasps absolutely dripped with carnal delight so intense his entire being, both physical and spiritual, blazed. “I thought—Merc with Mouth—because you talked—oh, fuck, Wade!”

“Nnn-nn.” The bigger man didn’t pause to speak.

Overwhelmed by his own desire, Peter whimpered. “Wade… Daddy, please…” Abs tight, he shivered and gasped. The pressure in his balls neared critical even as pleasure buzzed along every other nerve in his body. “Gotta stop.”

“Nnn-nn,” the bigger man repeated.

Peter fought the urge to flail. “Daddy, if you don’t… want something to rupture… either free the junk… or release the trunk.”

“Nnn-release the Crack-en!’” Giggling hard, Wade propped on his elbows. “Okay, sweet pea, you can have a rest; I’ll get back to worshiping your ass in a bit.” His bulk between his lover’s knees, he instructed, “Flip over first… Mmm, yeah. So pretty… Now open those knees wide. All the way to the mattress.” He gave a pleased hum as he patted his lover’s bound cock. “There now. Just calm your cage. Right, deep breaths, eyes closed.” Once Peter settled, he went on to ask, “So what do you think today’s challenge might be?”

“Oh, I thought it’d be a lazy Sunday until patrol like it always is?”

“No can do, Petey-pie.”

Peter harrumphed with a bit more annoyance than intended. “What are you gonna do when I decide I don’t wanna be a sex Marine?”

That earned him the kind of laugh he’d live and die for. “Reckon it’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming.”

“Ugh, old man, I wasn’t even alive when that was a thing.”

Wade nudged Peter’s rim with a knuckle. “Would you prefer: same spider time, same spider channel?”

He groaned, but as that pressure became more insistent, it warmed into a wanton moan. “Rest time’s not over.”

“Your wish, baby boy.” Wade squirmed and flexed until his head lay high on Peter’s thigh. “So make a guess at what’s on tap for today.”

“My booty?”

“That’s a given. Guess what we’re doing today.”

Peter heard, _What do you want to do today?_ It’d been six days since he’d considered the question. “May I think on it a while?”

“Take all the time you need.”

Content that he’d be permitted a slow start, even if it wasn’t a day off, Peter let his imagination wander. So many options to kink up. Truth be known, he should probably ask for a bit of housework incentive; they’d been so wrapped up in bootcamp that other things had escaped their attention. But was today a day for shoulds? Peter doubted it.

This day deserved something special, unhurried, welcome… Story time? Cute but too infantile. It was one thing to call Wade Daddy during bootcamp, but to treat him that way was another entirely. A non-Mexican dish? To cook, he’d need a functional kitchen, which he hadn’t seen in six days. It could be spotless or destroyed, so he put that idea on the back burner.

Wade slid his phone into Peter’s hand: Laughter University, _Ideas to Explore Childlike Playfulness as an Adult_. “Can you choose something from that list for Daddy?”

Standard answer at the ready, Peter hesitated. “…Lots of these have links.”

“Then follow them.” The older man chuckled so ominously that Peter glanced up at him. Eyes wide, smirk frozen. Eager. The big man was disturbingly ready for whatever he expected next.

Ten minutes later, Peter asked, “What about a theme day? Pirates?”

“I’ll be the captain, and you can be the buxom scullery wench!” On his feet in a heartbeat, Wade soon tossed the younger man his yellow bra and panties, a simple emerald-green peasant blouse, a full dark-emerald skirt, and a short green-gold corset. In nothing but an eyepatch, he hopped back into the bed, pointed a meat hook at Peter, and commanded, “Get to scullerying, wench!” He added a nudge that rather resembled being kicked out of bed.

Peter landed on his knees, because of course he did. “Yes, Dad—”

“That’s, _aye, captain_, to you, my salty little sea biscuit!” Wade snickered, amused with himself.

“Aye, captain.” Peter fumbled his way into the lingerie. The shirt slid over his head.

“Scullery boy, get your caboose to the caboose, double time!”

He hurried to don the skirt. “What’s a caboose?”

Wade tutted. “You say: ‘What’s a caboose, cap—'?”

“Aye, aye!” Corset around his waist, Peter glared at the metal pegs and slots as the first pair finally slotted together. He fastened the second ones at the cost of the first and marveled at how easy Wade made it look. “Dammit…. What’s a caboose, captain?”

“A kitchen, baby boy. Then! On your knees to scrub!” Using the meat hook Wade prodded him out of the room. “I want that galley shipshape by oh-nine-hundred on the chronometer, wench!”

In the spotless kitchen, the microwave showed 8:27. Wade must have set it.

“Hog’s under the sink!” Wade called from the bedroom.

_Hog? Surely not an actual porcine._

After another few minutes of fussing with the busk, Peter decided scullery wenches should be disheveled. Under the sink he found a new scrub brush, kneepads, and a quart of Super Grout No Rinse Clean ‘n Seal with Bleach Alternative Whitener in a three-gallon bucket that hadn’t been there last week.

No. Just no. Peter was not this predictable. Absolutely not. Wade had exactly zero reason to think Peter would choose Talk Like a Pirate Day. Not just choose but _find_. Except he’d kinda already been playing the wench, hadn’t he? This had to be suggestion at work.

Speaking of work, Peter got to polishing the tile and grout, starting with the backsplash once the bucket filled to the correct level for the dilution ratio. Since the hydrophobic coating would make any nonporous surface easier to clean for a month or so, he coated the sink, faucet, counter, and appliances while he pondered how Wade gave him an illusion of choice.

Sure, he remembered mentioning the grout needed scrubbing, a chore he despised, but he had no clue Wade would remember that from two weeks ago—wait, that and the mental suggestion was all White’s near perfect memory.

Peter huffed out his nose as he set the bucket on the floor, distal from the door. Once the kneepads were in place, he sank into the overly familiar position and resumed his chore.

White had gotten too much attention lately, which had dangerous implications since Yellow could turn violent if he got jealous. “How’s Yellow, _oh, captain, my captain_?”

The mercurial box’s sadistic chuckle told the smaller man everything he needed to know: White’s extra attention kept him from getting jealous of the other box. “Avast, me proud beauty! Wanna know where’fer me roger’s suh jolly?”

“Aye, Cap’n Yeller?” Oh, what series of terrible life choices had brought him to the point that cleaning the grout meant pirate sexcapades with Yellow?

“Tis all that glorious booty, me laddie.” Wade’s form filled the doorway. He’d added a pirate hat and a stuffed blue-and-yellow macaw dangling from one biceps, its plastic feet secured with twist ties. “Look’t ye, down thar, scrubbin’ ’way like a right ’n proper wench.” The box muttered something, probably talking to the other personalities in Wade’s head. “Blimey, boy, doan’ wanna get ye britches wet. Not jus’ yet.” He lifted the skirt to reveal the panties he’d selected. “Jus’ keep swabbin’ while I pin ’em outta the water, me hearty little harlot.” That done he grumbled, “Said keep ye britches dry, wench!” He tugged the panties to mid-thigh, a definite damp spot in the front.

The following ass smack echoed off the cabinets and walls. As did Peter’s startled yelp. “Yes, er, aye, captain.”

“’At’s better, me bucko.”

Yellow loomed in a supervisory position until Peter completed the kitchen. Standing to walk to the bath, Peter earned another smack.

“Bad wench! Down, boy!” Low with menace, Yellow growled, “Crawl.”

So Peter crept on hands and knees across the freshly vacuumed carpet, lines OCD perfect, to the immaculate bathroom where he repeated the process, then onward to the entry and front door.

“Resta th’ doorknobs too, ye scurvy son of a whore!” Yellow hauled back but tapped Peter’s face gently.

“Thank you, White. Face slapping will always be a hard limit.” Peter groaned before adding, “Captain, I need to stand up.”

“Five fer r’n’r, boy. Then report back to yer duty officer, me.”

He stood and stretched before removing the kneepads.

Rest and relaxation didn’t include freedom from Wade’s unyielding gaze. “And fix that cummerbund, jarhead. No self-respecting sex Marine would run around unlaced.” And that was definitely Wade. Seemed Yellow was also on break.

Under that heated stare, Peter returned to fussing with the four pins on his busk. “Yes, captain.” Once his r’n’r had surely expired, he asked, “May your scullery wench have assistance, my captain?”

Wade’s lips gave an indignant squawk. “I will never say _aar_, and I most certainly do not know how to lace a corset.” White went to work anyway; he tugged the panties into place before securing the busk and then pulling the laces to a reasonable tightness. “Screw you, Yellow; no, I won’t tighten—” Wade’s body cackled madly. “Then I’ll do it meself, ye scurvy bilge rat! Reckon ye’s right, ye ain’t got no clue how to batten down no whore. Breathe out, laddie boy!”

Peter had no problem mustering another long-suffering huff.

“Keep goin’, ye landlubber!”

Though reluctant he obeyed, allowing his lungs to empty beyond tidal depth.

Yellow reallocated the slack, cinched Peter down so tight he could only draw a fractional breath, and tied the excess lacing at his waist. “On ye knees, boy, where a scullery wench belongs!”

Once every hard surface including the outlet plates had been coated, Peter groused, “Captain o’ mine, yer wench wishes to stretch his legs, sir.”

“Then do it, boy.”

Peter rose to one knee.

“Not like that! Wench privates doan’ getta stand! Gotta be sergeant er better to stand! Into a plank, ye foolhardy scallywag!” Once Peter put his forearms down and straightened his legs, Yellow straddled his waist and plopped onto his back. “Wadey’s got no clue neither! This here’s how ye exhaust ye Spidey-boy with pushups.” He tapped a heel into Peter’s ribs. “Up, boy, up!”

At three hundred, Peter was feeling the added weight and lack of air.

Yellow shifted to his shoulders. “All the way up, ye jib hanged wench!”

Peter stood.

“Now pound ye face and git ye ass back up here! Move it, wench!”

Burpees. With shallow breaths. While weighted down. By a massive asshole housing the essence of three other ginormous assholes. _Oh, fuck me._

A dozen and Peter slowed. Two dozen and his grew desperate for air. At three, he spared enough breath to gasp, “Please, cap!” before dropping back to his hands and toes. He dipped until his nose touched, shoved up on shaking arms, and leapt to his feet. “Daddy, please!”

“Easy, baby boy. Can you do just a few more for Yellow?”

He didn’t stop. “Barely, Daddy.”

“That’s it, sweet boy. So good! Such a good boy for me. Count the beats for me.”

With Wade’s gentle encouragement droning in his ear, Peter kept pushing and pushing until: “…two, three, forty-ni, one, two, three, fif—” He waivered in place, seeing spots.

“Five fer r’n’r.” Yellow slid from his trembling shoulders. “Damn you, Wade, fine: fifteen.”

Peter slid down the nearest wall to the floor. “Thank you, cap’n; thank you, Daddy.” He slumped as much as the corset allowed. Ignoring the sting of sitting, his eyelids squeezed tight against any hint of light.

He woke to, “Time fer ye scourgin’, scullery wench!”

“Yes, cap—aye, aye, cap’n.” Rousing himself, he pulled his knees under him. “Captain, may yer wench have his correction for mutiny?”

“That an’ more, me bucko; that an’ more! Go drape that worthless hide over the chair seat. An’ git on ye knees, boy; ye look like a real sailor when ye stand like that! Now bare those shoulders so I can ruin ’em.” Yellow squawked in outrage. “Atheleisure? Screw you! You said anything I wanted! And screw you too! Yeah, I heard ya the first time. So what if I forgot? Fine, no blood! I hate you both!”

By the time Yellow was through arguing with the rest of Wade, the seat supported Peter’s corseted waist, his bare shoulders exposed, arms supporting the weight of his upper body over his hands.

“A little blood?” the petulant box asked.

“No, Yellow, none. Be good, and you can have all the Sundays in bootcamp. Or as many as I survive.”

Wade’s form preened. “See, told ya he loves me best!” From behind his back he pulled a gnarled cat-o-nine tails. “Too bad. I coulda made ya bleed real pretty with this.”

“I know, Yellow. Thank you for being so gentle with me.”

“Oh, I never get thanks!” As he floated on cloud nine, he ran a knuckle under Peter’s chin. “Such a good little scullery wench.” He took a step back and twirled the flogger so fast the tails sang. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Never doubted it.”

Light, fast, and relentless those tails stung Peter’s bare skin. A few heavy hits pounded down on his covered back, then the stingers resumed.

“He ain’t cryin’, you fuckin’ assholes!”

Peter didn’t reply, even as the force doubled over his covered back. When it trebled, Yellow got what he wanted. The manic box didn’t stop and didn’t stop and didn’t stop.

“’At’s right, blubber fer ye cap’n, landlubber!” He cackled again as Peter’s body crushed down under another heavy blow. “Whaddya mean enough? You said—shh, baby boy, Daddy’s got ya. Easy. Arms around Daddy. That’s right, good sweet boy.” Nuzzling and kissing, Wade carried Peter to the bed. “You’re okay, baby boy. Safe with Daddy. Lemme just check what Yellow’s done.” He released the corset’s knot and worked the garment free.

Grateful, Peter sucked in a full breath.

“Little bruising. Nothing they’ll see tomorrow.”

“Okay, Daddy. Is Talk Like a Pirate Day over?”

“No, baby, but Yellow knows he has to play gentler now. Give you time to heal up before work, right?”

“Yes, Daddy. Stay with me a little longer?”

Wade lay on his back and opened his arms. “Your wish, my good, sweet, brave, strong boy.”

“Thank you.” Peter snuggled into his embrace. “Is it okay that I said Yellow could have a day without giving White a day?”

“I’ll have no part in this barbary! Now if you want to spend a nice quiet day, just us, after this is over, I’ll be glad to oblige.”

“Thank you, White.” Peter stifled his giggle. “I’m sorry you have to witness such depravity.”

“No. No, you aren’t.” A kiss on the cheek and the maniacal gleam returned to Wade’s eyes. “Ye ain’t seen nuthin’ yet, my little coxswain—”

“Promotion to staff sergeant! I getta stand like a Maltese freebooter! Score!”

“Coxswain’s cockswabber, dammit, no promotion!”

“No takesies backsies! I’m a coxswain!”

“Fine.” Yellow sulked as he pulled Peter close. “But that just means more duties. Heh, doodies.”

“Yes, Cap’n Yeller.”

The box let out a warning growl.

“Aye. I meant aye.”

“’At’s better, me jacktar knave.” In a rare gentle mood, the box wrapped his arms and legs around Peter. “Mmm, ye a pleasant little tart, ain’t ye, boy?”

“Aye, cap’n.” Adamantly refusing to break the moment, Peter let Yellow hold him until his bladder felt ready to burst. “May yer scullery wench be excused, cap’n?”

“If ye wanna head to the head, then aye, boy, go.” Yellow released him slowly and with great reluctance. “Tis back to the hard life of a cap’n’s cockswabber, when ye return, _mon doux polisseur_ _de bitte_.”

Leaving the door open, Peter asked, “What did you call me?” One hand on the wall, the other reached under his skirt and pulled his caged package from the silk satin.

“My sweet knob polisher.” Yellow stood in the door, watching him pee through the silicone contraption that kept his straining cock from reaching full mast. “Mmm, does it hurt, me strumpet?”

“No, er, neh, er, _nay_. Yes, nay. Nay, cap’n. Unless I’m hard. Then it tugs the balls.”

“Tis a pity. Should hurt.” Once Peter shook himself dry, Yellow reached from behind, using both hands to gently roll his balls. “Love it when ye hurt.” He tightened his grip until Peter grunted. Even then he kept the pressure even, not letting up. “Love it when ye cry, when ye scream.”

“Aye, cap’n.” Uncomfortable with Yellow in control, Peter fought the urge to break free. He didn’t want a full Yellow Box Hissy Fit ™ on his hands. Panties tugged down enough to part his cheeks, a slicked hardness invaded his body. “Mmm, yes, Daddy, f—”

“No, my minx coxswain.” A big hand gathered as much hair as possible before yanking Peter into the second jarring thrust. “I ain’t yer daddy.”

“Oh, captain, my captain, fuck me.” Peter gasped as Yellow did precisely that. “Take me, use me.”

“Keep up that sweet talk, ye fuckin’ cocksleeve!”

Peter obeyed, gladly listing anything and everything Yellow liked to hear. If White were a know-it-all stick in the mud, then Yellow was a know-nothing prick in his ass. Not that Peter disliked the box’s single-minded pursuit of his ass—he loved it—but Yellow easily got carried away in his own fantasies, each more violent than the last.

The hand stroking Peter’s throat took him in a loose grip. Helpless to even protest, Peter continued urging the box to fuck him harder while surreptitiously hinting, “Mmm, Yellow, I do like it when you _cut down_ my air. _Just a little_ thrill. Don’t change a thing! Keep fucking me; keep holding my throat. Just like that. Damn, all of you know exactly how I like you to ram that luscious cock into your boy’s willing body.”

For a long while Yellow accepted his suggestions. Then that grip started to tighten. “Keep talking, fucker. Work for it.”

“Aye, cap’n.” Voice instantly rough Peter listed different positions Yellow enjoyed, all ones where Yellow would have to release his throat to reposition their bodies. “…Oh, yeah, I can feel it now: shoved to the floor, your mass keeping me down, fucking me down, face right against the fresh tile barely able to catch my breath as you put both hands on my hips and beat my tender rim into your hard pelvis with each brutal stroke.”

That caught Yellow’s attention. He forced Peter to the tile and crawled up behind him. “Maximum effort, my darling fucktoy. No mercy.”

Peter could barely keep pace, but he still gasped out, “Harder, cap’n. Faster. Make it hurt so fuckin’ much I’ll never walk again.”

That did the trick. Yellow moaned and twitched through his release inside Peter. “Fuck yeah, boy! Now get that ass cleaned up. Make it spotless, coxswain, cuz I’m gonna pick up where ya Daddy left off. Show ya how a real man eats ass.”

“Yes, er, aye, cap’n.” A faint giggle rose from Peter’s exhausted soul as his ass quaked at the mere idea of what Yellow might do. “Me timbers are shiverin’, oh, captain, my captain.”

More somber than Yellow’s usual high-strung and razor-sharp affection, the box replied with a note of astonishment, “Fuck, you’re too good for any of us, Petey-pie.” He rummaged through the cabinet. “Meet me in the bed soon as your ass is clean enough to eat outta.” He tossed a saline enema to the younger man and stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Alone in the quiet, Peter had a second to think as he rinsed the other man’s fluids from his entrance and the chamber just beyond. One more bruising round of smack ass, and he’d complete the first week of bootcamp. One quarter down, three to go.

So much had changed already. First off, he trusted not just Wade but both boxes so much more now. They’d all tested his limits and expanded his boundaries; they’d all protected and cherished him while destroying his body and mind only to put him back together stronger.

And, point the second, he was stronger. He’d never possessed this mental toughness until now. The entire experience changed when he gave up fighting the tears and accepted them as a transient reality he could endure for as long as Wade wanted him to hurt. He tolerated his hatred of the frailty and misery, and the combined sensation now felt like a rock-solid strength he could draw upon at will.

Peter wanted to continue his introspection, but his bottle ran empty. Surely Yellow heard that sucky noise through the door and expected him to climb into the bed soon. The younger man checked himself in the mirror, pleased with the yellow marks the sadistic box created on him. “May your coxswain brush his teeth, cap’n?”

“Have at, but ya got three minutes to get that treasure chest in here so I can plunder it.”

“Thank you, cap’n.”

During galley duty that evening, Peter felt dead on his feet, milked until he ran dry, meanwhile Yellow still raged for anything and everything all at once. “Sing a shanty for us while I wash the dishes? Please, my generous and benevolent cap’n?” With Yellow occupied, Peter could at least get the dishes clean before he fell over. _One more round. My ass and I can handle one more round._

After several verses, Yellow’s mind wandered again. “Heave n’ a ho, an’ up she rises, heave ‘n a ho, an’ up she rises, heave n’ a—Oh, yes-yes-yes, wank me off with just ye wall muscles, ye salty tarty twinkie, and I’ll give ye a prize.”

“One more dish, cap’n?” Last plate in the sink, Peter couldn’t set it aside without trying to get permission to finish the job.

“Ye know whar I’ll be, ye scurvy varmint.” Footsteps trailed away but stopped. “An’ if ye ain’t thar in five minutes, I’ll keelhaul ye.”

Peter had no doubt that the rat-shit insane box would find a ship for just that purpose. “Aye, cap’n. Be there in two shakes of an eager tallywhacker, sir.” He placed the last dish to drain, cleaned the scrub brush, wiped down the sink, and washed his hands. “On my way, cap’n.”

Wade’s body lay loose jointed but fully erect in the bed. “Ye might make admiral yet, swabby.”

“Thank you, cap’n.”

Once on the bed, Peter wasted no time sinking his body onto Wade’s thick, scarred dick. He rolled his hips—

A small blaze erupted on his ass. “Damn, cap’n, wha—?”

“Walls only. Or ’re ye not up to the challenge?” Yellow gave a wicked laugh. “C’mon, boy, work for it.”

“Aye, aye, captain, my captain, working for it, sir.”

The first clench took more effort than it should have, but Peter managed to get a rhythm going. For all of seven squeezes before it fell apart on him. Unable to sense the muscle contractions, he clamped down with his entire ass—right up until Yellow gave him another red mark for the effort. Determined, the younger man tried again and failed again, a dozen times, two dozen. Aching inside and out he milked along Wade’s cock inconsistently but enough that Yellow panted and whimpered, eager for release. At the big man’s efforts to thrust, Peter forced him to the mattress and resumed with coordinated pulls that soon made Yellow yowl and hitch.

“Fuck yeah, boy, now that’s how ya milk a cock.”

A tiny ball of pride wedged under Peter’s heart. “And what do I win, oh, captain, my captain?”

Yellow took the key to Peter’s cage from Wade’s nightstand. “A Hollywood shower, my booty-licious bilge rat, just me, thee, an’ those double-peach asscakes.” He cackled at his own lame joke as he got to his feet. After Peter followed him to the bathroom, he continued, “One minute. I’ll take that off fer one minute by Whitey-boy’s count before it goes back on, whether yer ready er not.” He reached for the lock.

“Wait! Can I have a few to get my head right first, cap’n?”

That barbed-wire grin left Peter anxious. “Get to work.”

Two fingers inside and a two more on his taint, Peter stood and stroked over his prostate while his cage rose from his body, pulling his balls along with it.

Yellow sat on the toilet lid and leered, unwilling to miss a single pained and urgent facial expression. “Seems like ye got yeself into quite the _tiny_ pre-_dick_-u-ment thar, Petey-pie.” His snickers held the cruel edge that Wade mostly kept leashed around Peter. “Must be hell to fit all that meaty beefy big n’ bouncy into that iddy-biddy teeny tighty. Look’t, ye practically standin’ on ye head tryin’ to get it hard enough to jizz quick! Fuck, I love this shit.” He pinched the inside of Peter’s thigh until the younger man jerked back. “That’s it, you cocksucker, work for it. Work hard. Let it hurt. Think how good it’s gonna feel to just hose down that shower. Think how nice it’ll be to have a whole minute to stroke that manaconda. Let it get all fat an’ hard…”

While that litany of profanity continued in Peter’s ear, the pressure on his balls grew unbearable. Grunting against the torment, he massaged inside and out with a wild desperation. “Fuck, I’m ready. Please, I’m ready now!”

“Little more begging.” Yellow slicked a finger of his own.

“Please, cap’n, lemme out. Wanna come so bad; please, please, please lemme come.”

Yellow barked another laugh as he held out the lube to the writhing mass that used to be a sane man. “Yeah, boy, I’ll let ya out.” He unlocked the cage and freed Peter’s hard-on. “Ain’t guaranteein’ nothin’ mo—then forget the timer, Whitey, you colossal ass! Just once I wish you’d—! Eh, fuck you too! Both you fuckers can fuck right off…! Yeah, well top this, you scarred freak.” Unexpectedly gentle, he slid a finger in to replace Peter’s. “C’mon, ya rump humper, yank that crank.”

Once Yellow joined the effort, Peter’s entire body hummed. He rolled into Yellow’s bidding fingers. The longer the younger man squirmed, the longer that pounding raged through him. His effort to stroke his cock fumbled to nothingness once the first spasm clutched inside his ass. The next tensed his entire abdomen. The bursts of pleasure crept up his spine, slammed his heart, climbed his throat. All of him shook when the sensation burst at the top of his head like he was some goddamned overinflated balloon. And he kept shaking and shaking and shaking.

“Please, Yellow, enough!”

“But it’s only been eight minutes according to White. Surely you can take another two!”

Peter whimpered but replied, “Yes, Da—er, oh fuck, cap’n. Two.”

With the object of his affection unable to track time, the orgasm continued for as long as Yellow wanted, but once the sadistic fuck relented, once Peter managed a full gasp to oxygenate his blood, a deep sense of wellbeing settled into his bones.

“I didn’t know that was possible.” Well, the words were panted and stilted and warbly, but Peter spoke them. “Yellow, I don’t know what to say. I thought you were bragging.”

“That’ll teach ye, me young coxswain. Twas braggin’: ye cap’n knows what feels good—so y’all can quit callin’ me a moron, ya flamin’ poofs!” He crossed his arms, the fake bird bobbing. “Now get a shower, boy, so I can lock ye away fer ye Daddy.”

“Aye, cap’n.” Head still spinning Peter scrambled to obey. Looking forward to Sundays instead of dreading them, he scrubbed quickly. “May your sergeant wash his privates, cap’n?”

“Fuck if I care, boy, s’long as we get everythin’ squared away for the meatsuit. He’s eager to go on patrol. _’Scusez-moi_, my darlin’ coxswain, gotta go _parlay_ with _eux_. Some moron’s thin’in’ he can outsex the god of the little death.”

Hours later Peter tumbled inside through the bedroom window. “Daddy, is there no way to skip this spanking without killing bootcamp?”

“Not a single one.” Wade stepped inside, careful not to trample the smaller man. “Put some trust in me and let me take care of you.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

Peter righted himself onto his knees. “May your boy receive his correction, Daddy?”

“Yes, baby boy. Once you’re in your jammies, c’mere and get what you need.”

Without scoffing, Peter forced one foot in front of the other. Reluctant, on the edge of resentful, he peeled his suit from his body and slid into the pyjamas.

“That’s it. Flap down. Now just lay across Daddy’s lap.” He patted his thighs in invitation. When Peter complied, a loving caress roamed his backside. “Shh, now, just relax and it’ll all be over soon. ’Kay, sweet boy?”

“Okay, Daddy.” His eyes fluttered closed, and he sank into the legs supporting his hips.

Each strike was punctuated by slow firm strokes over his flaming peaches. Neither painless nor painful, sharp nor gentle, Wade kept him floating while he lay limp and happy. “There now, baby boy. Climb into bed and get some rest. Wanna be fresh for tomorrow. Every day is the hardest day of bootcamp.”

Peter flashed a tired but genuine grin for the big man. “Thank you, Daddy. You’re always the best.”

Wade lulled him off to sleep with a whispered, airy croon of “Rock the cradle of love, cradle of love don’t rock easy…”


	8. Day 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week down, three more to go. Poor Peteykins.

Overheated under Wade’s weight, Peter woke to the bigger man shaking atop him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wade made a strangled whine but no words followed.

Gentle in his concern, Peter stroked along his lover’s bald head as he cooed soft nothings. “We’ll work it out. Whatever it is we’ll face it together.”

“Why? Why would you do that when you hate me?”

_Fucking boxes_. “Wade, I don’t hate you. Where are my arms?”

“…’Round my back?” He nuzzled into Peter, clinging so hard his muscles trembled.

“Am I the kinda guy who’d wrap my arms around someone I hate?”

“…Ye-e-es.” He sniffled. “You’re the goodest and bestest and greatest and even if you hate someone you don’t want them to suffer and you’re too good for this world, baby boy, and I don’t deserve you because no one can be good enough to deser—”

Peter protested, “But if no one is good enough for me, then I’d be all alone.”

“And you don’t like being all alone?” the bigger man posited tentatively, his voice crackling as if heartbroken by the very idea of his baby boy being forlorn.

“Well, I do like being right here beside you.” He almost asked the big man to get off his bruised ribs but decided to ignore the discomfort for now. “I’m perfectly happy right where I am, under my gorilla-sized, personal and portable, absolutely adorable space-heater with optional seat warming features.” For several long minutes he made pleased chirrups while petting the man who clutched him with such desperation. “I love you more than the moon loves the stars, big guy. What could possibly make you think otherwise?”

“Everybody hates their drill sergeant,” Wade replied in perfect earnest.

Peter bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Oh, my sweet idiot, I promise I’d yowl pineapple at the top of my lungs for hours on end before I’d let this bootcamp put the tiniest dent in how much I adore your big hairless ass.” A chortle escaped. “Babe, listen to me: I love you. Yes, this has been harder than I expected, but nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever be more important than you in my eyes. I’ll never just stand by and let you do anything to break up the band, Yoko.”

That finally drew an amused snort right in Peter’s face.

“Morning breath,” he snarked, “my favorite.” Nonetheless he pulled Wade’s lips to his own.

Peter intended a delicate peck, a quick and reassuring press. But once he felt his lover’s marred lips against his own, he couldn’t stop himself from seeking a taste of the big man. Even that small pleasure proved too much for his now constant state of high arousal. Wracked with desire his body collapsed in on itself like a star going nova. Need exploded through him, blinding, consuming, claiming all of him and demanding to devour his lover as well.

“I should be over all the butterflies,” Wade sang, “but I’m into you, I’m into you. And even, baby, our worst nights I’m into you, I’m into you. Let ’em wonder how we got this far—”

With a hopeful lilt, Peter teased, “Not yet you aren’t.” Ignoring the tug of his cage, he wrapped his legs around the bigger man’s waist. “Please say you’re ready to pound me into the mattress until I scream your name.”

“Always, baby boy,” came Wade’s breathy reply. His brow crinkled. “Nah, that’s more ‘CrushCrushCrush’ than ‘I’m Still into You’.”

Peter’s tic of annoyance destroyed his blissful delirium. “You boxes need to fuck off right now; this is Daddy’s time, and I don’t want another peep outta you two until he’s a slack ball of happy. We clear?”

Moments later Wade giggled at their responses, a good sign that the boxes knew precisely where they stood in Peter’s estimation at this early hour. “Yellow’s practically bawling about next Sunday.”

“Then remember that before you gang up on my boyfriend again. No hide the sausage for bad yellow boxes. And don’t go getting ideas, White. I’ll skin your box just as quick. Now shut up and let my boyfriend relax.”

Wade grinned against his throat. “They are so pouting right now.” He chuckled. “I’m starting to miss Dom Pedro.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

A cheek in each hand, he squeezed hard enough that the younger man bucked. “Daddy will call you whatever he pleases, baby boy, including Late for Dinner, Maybe, Shirley, For a Good Time—”

“Hmph, so I’ve noticed.”

“Take you however he pleases.” Wade slid two fingers into the smaller man’s mouth. “Rough or easy.” With a final caress of Peter’s tongue, he pulled his fingers free. “Fast or slow.” They found the caged man’s rim, massaged, tugged, breached. “Shallow or—” He buried them to the third knuckle.

As Peter’s eyes rolled back, he groaned, “Da-a-addy.”

“That’s right, baby boy; I’m your daddy.” He disrupted the steady thrusts of his fingers with a scissoring stretch that left Peter aroused to agony. “I decide everything that happens to my boy.”

At a push on his solar plexus, Peter exhaled and exhaled and exhaled. Finally the gentle pressure relented, allowing him a quick gasp. Then his conscious thought was gone, leaving him nothing more than a marionette in his lover’s hands. He breathed at their indulgence. He presented his body at their instruction. He quivered through his lover’s railing at the pace they set.

In total abandon.

Complete bliss.

Perfect surrender.

Used however his beloved saw fit.

Cheek to the sheet with Wade’s hands on his hips, pulling him into each thrust, Peter let out a small wail. He keened with his need for more. Blood rushed in his ears, muffling his lover’s harsh grunt with each unrelenting slam of those wide, powerful hips.

“Hmm, my sweet little songbird? I asked does it hurt.”

“Yes, Daddy, even my bones ache for you. It’s a sharp pain where I want to come so bad I could puke, but it throbs so good everywhere else. The kind of hurt you never want to end because that sweet longing feels so good.” Peter whimpered. “May your boy strip?”

“What? But I love these pyjamas!”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

The older man snickered at his disjointed reply but made no comment.

“Ah, Wade! Daddy! So good! So fuckin’ good! Don’t stop, Daddy; please don’t!”

“Shh, baby, I’ll hold out a little longer, but once Daddy comes, you gotta go back to sleep.”

Peter whimpered at that but replied, “Yes, Daddy.” He understood; he had work tomor—

Oh, holy hero’s hell, Peter forgot all about his unscheduled Friday off. He wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

Peter felt the presence behind him. It didn’t take a genius to know who stood in his doorway observing his work. “When I apply the slightest pressure along the side like this, the nanotubes elongate rather than building thicker bundles. That last formula showed promise but collapsed in on itself, too brittle to resist cleaving along the y-axis, toppled like a house of cards.”

“Less carbon?” Stark asked.

“About half.”

“Kid, do you know what you’re getting into with Dead—?”

“Don’t. Oh, bemused gods, please, just don’t. I know precisely what I’m into with Wade, and it’s nobody’s business but our own.”

“He told me you had the 24-hour malaria, and unless I wanted the entire building quarantined, I’d best give you a sick day.”

Peter snickered but still couldn’t turn around to face the man. “Sounds like him alright. I had words with him over that, but I’m not certain he heard any of them. In his mind at least, it was a special occasion that warranted a day off, no matter what either of us thought.”

“Don’t let it hap—”

“You are giving me wa-a-ay too much credit if you think I can control Wade Winston Wilson.”

“Point taken.” As stealthily as he came, Stark disappeared from the doorway.

Peter let out a whoosh of relief. That had gone better than he could possibly have hoped, but he still didn’t trust that simple exchange to be the end of the matter.

_This will come back to bite me in the ass._

An empty house greeted Peter when he returned home. He checked every room, no Wade. On the fridge he found a Hello Kitty post-it with a neat cursive note in purple ink: “Went to see a woman about a crock-o-dial. You’ll have to give yourself your afterwork spankies. Don’t forget to tape it all for Daddy!”

_Tape? Spanking? Myself?_

Flames raced down Peter’s body. He’d assumed he’d eventually become impervious to embarrassment, but yet again Wade proved him wrong.

Too overwhelmed to even think about his task just yet, he opened the fridge. A second note greeted him: “Take ten for a bottle of water, but no snackies until after spankies. XOXOX Wadies” He’d drawn their masks inside a circle with hearts in their eyes. At the bottom, he’d squeezed in: “Be a good boy for Daddy, and he might have a treat for you. Be a bad boy, and he definitely has something extra speci—” He’d run out of space, but Peter got the gist.

A self-punishment couldn’t injure anything but his pride, and at this point he had hardly any left to be wounded. He toyed with his phone as he drank his water, miffed to realize he’d been planning the view he wanted for his video. This time of year the evening the window let in enough sunlight to cast the couch in a soft glow. He stripped naked. After posing on the couch while rambling something almost sexyish, he checked his test shot. He could do better. He brought in a mirror and arranged it to give him fuller light. Hmm, a bit of eyeliner would really intensify his expressions in the video.

After another test run, he realized he was delaying the inevitable by slipping into quality control mode, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop himself. If Wade showed up before he finished, he could at least prove his intent, maybe scream the man’s name to cut the punishment even more. Otherwise, if he was going to do this, it’d be a professional-quality production.

Leery he picked up Peter’s Punishment Paddle ™. He slapped it into his palm with a dull thud, then tried it against his ass. Too awkward, he hit his hip and got zero snap. That would sound lifeless on the video. A belt on the other hand… Peter tried it across his ass as well, but it also proved unwieldy, wrapping around his thigh and stinging the softer skin.

Then he spotted Yellow’s cat-o-nine-tails.

_It’d sounded great across my shoulders, but is self-flagellation something I’m willing to do when an awkward effort with the paddle would prove adequate?_ He’d do it. If only for the audio effect. After a few test swats, he was satisfied with the taped results.

He searched for any excuse to delay the emotionally discomforting obligation, but nothing caught his attention. Time to comply.

Feeling demure and small, Peter hit start and knelt before the camera. “Hi, Daddy. Your boy was deceitful, and he’s going to punish himself as a reminder to be honest for you.” Voice high and reedy, he sounded half a hiccup from passing out cold.

He settled into the focal point on the couch. The first strike of the heavy, knotted falls landed with a loud smack, stinging across his back. Moving from one shoulder to the other, he repeated the process, adding speed and power. Soon each hit left him gasping.

A dozen more and he turned to the camera. Tears flowing he admitted, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I can’t make myself do it anymore. But I’m trying so hard to be a good boy for you. I love you.” He cut the recording and hit send before he could erase the evidence.

Peter remained crouched in stunned silence. He wasn’t the kind of man who sent dirty pics, much less a kinky video of him beating himself purple his penis strained against a silicone cage, his abused posterior on full display. Yet Wade hadn’t even been here to coerce him. The man had left his commands on Hello Kitty stationery for chri’sake. Peter could have refused or negotiated or moved to Tahiti. No one forced him to memorialize this shame. The younger man had done this entirely of his own free will to amuse the man he loved. And if that wasn’t the most fucked up thing in the world, he couldn’t say what was.

The door never opened, but Wade gingerly lifted him to stand, all the while rambling softly, “C’mon, sweet boy. I think its nap time for you. Reckon we can let the jammies slide for now, since you look a little…” Whispering, he told one of the boxes, “Well I never expected him to go full mortification of the flesh. …Hey! I wasn’t the one who thought he’d find his sweet spot for us if we left him alone to practice. …Yeah, so pretty.” He eased Peter onto the bed. “Lay on your stomach, baby boy. That’s it, my good boy. Stay right like that. I’ll be right back.”

Even when he returned Peter refused to face him. “Did you do it on purpose?”

“Honest, baby boy, I never thought you’d beat yourself bloody like—”

“What?” Alarmed Peter strained in one direction, then the other, but couldn’t twist enough to see his back. “I’m bleeding?”

“Oh, yeah, baby boy, but it’s closing up fast.” Wade kept his voice barely audible even for Peter’s hearing. “Yellow’s still screaming that he wants a taste of that beautiful spider blood.”

Peter swallowed, far more interested in his original concern. “Did you intend to catch me, break me, geld me, and claim me for your own, ruined for all others, yours til Death do we part?”

Wade cocked his head to one side. “Spiders aren’t horses, Petey-pie. You aren’t making unicorn sense. Didn’t smack your melon, did you?”

“No. ’M fine.”

“You can say that again!”

Peter swatted the bigger man’s hands back from his head. “Quiddit. No melon ball knots up there.” He couldn’t express what he’d meant any better, but he tried. “It’s so far beyond love, beyond devotion. When I say I’d follow you to hell, I mean I’d go without reservation. You say something has to be done, and I’ll do it, no questions asked. And I always ask the questions.”

The bigger man scoffed. “If I said J. Jonah Jameson had to die?”

That sobered Peter. “No. Not that I haven’t given it some serious consideration over the years, but no, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then there you go, Sweetie—”

“Neither would you.”

“See, no reason to worry that pretty little noggin. You’re learning to trust me, my skittish little spiderling—yeah, but where to find a saddle with eight leg holes?—you’re still you, still the best person in all the multiverse. So it’s all good.” One hand massaging Peter’s neck, the other tipped his head upward another few degrees. “I’m gonna clean your back, baby boy. Few spots still bleeding. You gonna hold still for me?”

“Yes, Daddy.” His soul felt far more raw and open than his back. The hiss of a pressurized can made him jump.

“Just a little saline.” Wade dabbed cool, wet gauze along a curving path up the small of his back to between his shoulder blades. “No, you fuckwit numbnut jackwad, none of this is for you, so keep your boxy corners off my—_our_, fuck you both—_our_ baby boy’s precious lifeblood. Else this is over right now. No Sunday Fundays. No baby boy on his knees begging for you to hurt him more. Nothing but the three of us in the cold black depths of space… Fuck if I won’t, just try me.” He scoffed. “’S what I thought. Now shut up and let the grownups think.”

“He can.” Peter’s voice broke as he spoke, and the words came out in a low crackle.

“Mmm?”

“I don’t mind. Since it’s there already. If Yellow wants a taste.”

Wade continued his meticulous cleaning. “Dangerous thoughts, my sweet princeling. Yellow wants to give you his special sharp slicey love and drink you down like a coconut… or maybe a vampire.”

“I know. He always will. _You_ always will.”

“Yeah, but I never would. Never, Peter, I swear, so long as I know it’s you, I’ll protect you always.”

“I know that too.” Peter reached out to make skin-to-skin contact.

With a distraught whine Wade squeegeed up a drop that rolled down the younger man’s side. Mesmerized he stared at the red smear on his finger. “As a gift, from you to Yellow, this one time only?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, this one time.”

Even with that confirmation Wade continued to study the red liquid as if he hadn’t patched his boy back together a dozen times in the last year. Through the entire process each time, Yellow screamed for more of the lovely, happy red. “This blood was shed for me?”

“…I guess it was.” Peter sighed at his own stupidity. “I couldn’t bear the idea of disappointing you by going too easy on myself just because you weren’t here to make sure I… hit your standards.”

That earned a faint chuckle. “Here’s to the sacrament of the spider, baby boy.” Wade suckled his finger, and his awed expression gave way to one of rapture. A moment later he scowled and cocked his head to one side as if listening for something in the distance. “Yellow…?” He spun around, searching. “Hey, where’d ya go…? What do you mean gone…? Like a vacation…? Oh.” The big man giggled. “Yellow needs some private time.” He focused back on Peter. “Why?”

How would Peter know why Yellow did anything? “More spank bank material than one little yellow box could handle at once?”

“Not him, you. Why did you break your own hard limit? Didn’t you feel your skin split?”

“I… No, not really.” Another tally in the _Peter Can’t Be Trusted _column. “I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“You are perfect. Stop trying so hard to be even more perfecter; it’s not fair already!” Wade brought up the video, ensured Peter saw as he erased it. “We’ll just forget all about this little incident, but I’m still revoking your pilot’s license. No more flying solo for you, young man!”

“Too tough for my own good?”

“Damned skippy, you are.”

From a dark corner of the rafter’s Peter and Wade watched the cops haul away the last of their catch of the night. Clingier than usual Wade insisted that Peter sit between his thighs so the bigger man could wrap his legs and arms around his boyfriend. “Ooh, postmodern industrial aesthetic, I can dig it.” He squeezed tight. “Mmm, Spidey-boo, it’s been too long!”

“Deadpool, this morning isn’t too long.”

“But I haven’t had you since… Chapter Five, I checked!”

“Uh? OH!” Peter leaned back into the ex-merc’s chest. “Then unlock me and command me to fuck you.”

“Can’t. Key’s at home.”

The younger man managed to stifle his laughter to a smartassed chortle. “Guess you’re outta luck, there, big guy. Too bad. I’d’ve been glad to web you up and fuck you down right here, right now.”

Wade didn’t bother to tone down his triumphant bray. “Jus’ so happens, my darling Spidey-kins, I do gots a little something in this pouch that might help me out of this dire dearth of dick.” He started rummaging but frowned. “Maybe it’s the pouch on the other side… Ha! Knew it was here somewhere.” He pulled out a harness with a massive fake phallus. “Now we don’t have to worry about your little guy getting over excited!”

“’M not little.” Peter eyed the toy with suspicion if not outright offense. Caught with his dick out was one thing, but caught pegging his boyfriend while his own member remained encased in its overly snug home constituted another matter entirely. On the plus side at least he’d be fully dressed and not sporting an indecent level of boner if anyone entered the building.

“You gotsta. Deady says.”

Defeated Peter let his head fall to his chest. “Oh, fuck me…”

“No, fuck me, Spideypooh.” Wade snapped the harness around the younger’s waist, his legs, then slathered the obscenely large slab of silicone with lube. “Hop, hop, times a’wastin’.”

After extracting himself from his lover’s octopus embrace, Peter struggled to his feet.

“You don’t seem particularly inspired, my sweet spider. Need a little foreplay to get this party started right?”

With a grin he gave a contented hum, “I’d like that, Deady.”

“Good.” He searched through the first pouch again. “This one’s for you.”

Peter had seen anal beads of all sorts before, but black silicone kept unspooling from the pouch until he could taste the phantom of them forcing their way up his throat. “Um, dude, how much of that do you think I can—?”

“Oh, that obedient ass of yours will drink down every inch, my arachnid love muffin. Now drop trou and grab those ankles.”

Mouth arid, he swallowed. It didn’t help. Nonetheless he obeyed.

As Wade placed the first slick, cool ball at his lover’s entrance, the bigger man burst out with an obscure Guns n’ Roses tune, “Panties round your knees with your ass in the breeze, doin’ that grind with the push ’n squeeze. Tied up, tied down, up against the wall, he’s my rubbermaid baby, and he can do it all…”

Long about the third bead, Peter realized two things: first they were weighted and second the weights weren’t stable, instead jiggling inside the balls with even the tiniest motion.

“That’s it, Spides. Rock ’em deeper. Fuck yeah, just another seven to go.” Before Peter could so much as whimper, Wade looked straight up. “Damn, you’re right. He’s held both of us up like that before.” He pressed the next ball into smaller man with a little less patience. “Hurry up and drink your treat, baby boy. Deady wants to ride you on the ceiling.”

By the time the older man pulled up Peter’s suit bottom, the balls jittered inside him nonstop, leaving him not just overfull but also hyperaware of his every twitch. Just raising his hands set off a chorus inside him.

“Up, up, up! Get up there! I’ve been as patient as a desert wildflower, my sweet little sip of cool sky nectar, but this ass needs action!”

Peter leapt up, stuck his hands to the metal warehouse ceiling, and swung his feet backward to latch onto the ceiling. He hadn’t pressed the burrs on his back through his thin suit in years, but those spider hairs latched onto the metal as well.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Wade flung his pants to the warehouse floor far below, then jumped up. He slid his arms through the smaller man’s legs. Showing off his abs, he pulled his legs up and threaded them behind his lover’s knees as well. With a little effort and plentiful pinching (though by accident or on purpose, Peter couldn’t tell) Wade managed to work himself into place over the firm phallus in an inverted cowgirl position. He pulled himself up onto the toy.

In no small feat of strength, the massive man fucked himself with utter abandon.

As Wade rippled over the toy strapped to Peter’s hips, the lively anaconda invading his own body slithered and thumped. Between the constant strange sensation and the nonstop obscene moans of his boyfriend, he writhed, as stimulated as he would normally be while fucking the bigger man but unable to find the satisfaction of hot walls gripping him with the textured slide of flesh. Crazed, he pumped harder, searching for the friction that remained maddeningly evasive. His brain swore he should be feeling every stroke; instead he felt only the constant tug of the cage against his balls.

He snarled as he flipped his boyfriend between him and the ceiling. Clinging by his fingertips and toes, he pounded up at a punishing pace, rough and angry, much to the delight of his rider. The weighted balls fluttered and dropped inside him, as if the butterflies from his stomach formed a ravenous swarm. His anger burned hot and fast, expired as quickly as it came.

Careful of his burrs and the dry friction, he reached between them and stroked Wade. The bigger man trembled and whimpered for him. As he neared his finish, he tensed, all hard muscle locked around Peter’s lithe frame. He spilled over the younger man’s hand, dribbling pearls across his chest. Recovering slowly, he held Peter tight, babbling softly to either himself or his boxes.

“Love it when you go all primal, Spider-babe.” Wade booped his nose. “That was fun. Gotta do it again sometime. Now lemme off this rollercoaster—Can too…! Okay, fine—Lemme off this buckin’ bronco.”

With fond chagrin, Peter allowed his legs to dangle, yanking the toy from Wade’s body. He released the younger man and dropped back to the rafter, Peter following soon after.

Wade grabbed him up and spun him. “I'll tell you what, what I have found, that I'm no fool, I'm just upside down. Ain't got no cares, I ain't got no rules. I think I like, living upside down.”

With no other possibility, Peter giggled at his antics, content in the deep yet improbable way of a zen master.

After swinging them back to the apartment with twenty tons of bells clanging inside his body, Peter made it as far as the bathroom door before Wade called out, “Come back here, you little spiderpuss!”

So much for removing Gold’s Gym from his colon. Peter walked back to where the ex-merc sat on the bed. “Yes, Daddy?”

Wade tugged him closer and pressed a kiss to his distended stomach. “You weren’t thinking of removing what Daddy put in you, were you?”

“Yes, Daddy.” _Dammit._

The big man’s sonorous chuckle caressed Peter, the pleasant vibration sensual enough to tempt a nun to sin. “I wanna do so many glorious things before I pull those beads, pretty boy. Can you hold on another hour?”

“Hour?” Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Can, yes; want to, no. But I will if you ask, Daddy.”

“It’s a bit after midnight. I’ll have you tucked in for beddie-bye by one, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Peter managed a tired smile for his lover.

Wade slid a hand between Peter’s thighs and pulled him closer. “Such a good boy for me.” Big hands massaged across his tender backside, making his entire body tingle and stirring his unrequited desire for release. They peeled his pants to below the curve of his butt bubble. “This pink, stinging ass becoming your new normal?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter bit his lip and glanced away as he flushed hot.

Wade unlocked his cage and freed him. “And you’ve been a chaste boy for so long already, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Daa—DEE!” Peter fought the urge to squirm as Wade flicked his tongue across the tip.

Lips against the smaller man’s shaft, he murmured, “Bit musky, how ’bout a shower?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy, a nice hot shower sounds like bliss.”

The older man flashed the grin that made Peter’s stomach drop with both dread and desire. “Present in supine.”

Holding his questions, trusting he’d find out in due time what Wade had in mind, Peter climbed onto the bed and lay with his arms trapped at his lumbar. Knees up and wide, he let them fall open to the sheet below him. The air felt strangely cool on his free manhood, and he pondered if his penis could get Stockholm Syndrome.

Wade held up his cage. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, um… It’s weirdly nice. I mean I hate the lock; bugger pinches me. And the mornings! The first was a religious experience. I’m constantly trying to distract myself from getting hard. So many erections, straining to break free. But, Daddy, everything is so much more sensitive, more attuned. Sometimes you’ll just barely touch my shoulder or ribs, and it’s electric.”

“Good. Now I want you to go ahead and pull your arms free; let them rest at your sides. Let those tired little spider eyes close too.” He set a slow breathing rhythm for Peter to follow. “That’s good, real good, baby boy. Let your mind wander.” After a minute he continued, “I’m gonna ask some questions, and you’re gonna give your first impulse answer. Don’t worry about speed or grace; they don’t count. Don’t worry about exceptions or implications; if need be we can revisit those later. Right, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“So what’s your favorite color?”

“You know that blue that’s so blue it’s almost electric?”

Wade chuffed. “Yeah, baby boy, I might have seen it a few times when you’re in your suit.” He gave Peter a few seconds to recenter. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Anything Aunt May makes, but I guess her cherry pie is the best.” He laughed. “Are you going to ask the air speed of an unladen swallow?”

“Shh, just the answers, my little rum raisin cake of carnal delights.” Wade slowed his breathing again. “Now, who’s your favorite author and why?”

“Dr. Banner. I get a little thrill every time I see he’s published something new. He’s kinda my ideal; you know, the whole ‘when I grow up I wanna be just like…’.”

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without sleep?”

“I lost track after Gwen died. Four days? A week? Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was her. Or Harry. It was hell.”

“What’s the hardest battle you’ve ever fought?”

Peter wanted to say Harry again, but in the same breath he didn’t want to think about it. He focused on accepting the pain with grace.

“Quit stalling, baby boy. When’d you think you weren’t gonna make it to sunrise?

“Oh… That’s different. Honestly, when the sonic gun failed, I was pretty sure Venom would eat me. Cutting its webs? Pulled that idea straight outta my ass. But as long as I had some hope, I could force myself to keep fighting.”

“Why did you beat yourself bloody?”

Scowling, Peter scanned his eyelids for any hint. “I don’t know, Daddy. I wanted it to be perfect, but I knew I was procrastinating because I was scared of being on camera, all vulnerable, naked, and exposed. Felt like a perv.

“And I would have assumed we confused my brain, except I’ve never paid my own pain much mind; it doesn’t matter so long as everyone else is happy and safe.” He hesitated. _Absolute truth._ “Not just because I’m tough enough to endure whatever shitstorms life can dole out. So many people I’ve failed.

“That’s not the whole of it.” Peter continued, “I feel like, without Dad or Uncle Ben, who’s here to push me except me, so I’m always driving myself, never let anything be acceptable instead of exceptional.” His throat closed down. Though he had so much more to say, he couldn’t go on.

While he calmed, Wade propped against the headboard beside him. “Perfectionism’s a cruel mistress, baby boy. Killed more people than me… by a few million and counting.” He tapped his inner thigh, and Peter settled his head in the bigger man’s lap. After petting him a while, Wade said, “Do it again. This time be kind to my boyfriend, you poopiehead—heh, yeah, I got to tell him off for once.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter stood slowly, at a loss of what to do next.

Terrifyingly observant, the ex-merc clicked his tongue. “Start with music, baby boy. Set the mood: fun, playful.”

Peter’s brain translated that into Bubblegum K-Pop. He selected Secret’s swing-style “Shy Boy” on his phone and hit play: “Tur wap, du bop, du bop…” sing-songed the four young women. There, fun and playful. Accomplished.

“Select your toy, baby boy. Notice Daddy said toy, dammit, not weapon. Ain’t nobody using no weapon on my darlin’ apple blossom but me.” He grabbed his crotch to emphasize his point.

On Wade’s side of the closet, Peter had stashed the yardstick from when he had played Professor Parker to Wade’s Miss Winsome. Built for practical use, the tool had felt natural in his hand.

“Now show me. Make a fool of that studious nerd I love.”

With a chortle, Peter chased his own tail, trying and failing to land a decent smack. No angle, no twist, nothing brought any of his thickest flesh into range. With Wade snickering at his antics, a happy success settled over the younger man.

“Try choking up on it. A lot. Like thirty inches or so.”

With a six-inch toy, an angle opened up so he could just barely manage a decent swat. He crinkled his nose at Wade.

“I’ll spank my spider soundly and put him to bed after our shower, _nae naemsae naneun geomi sonyeon_.”

“You know I don’t speak Korean.”

“My stinky spider-boy.” Ignoring his squawk of protest, Wade escorted him to the bathroom and let the water warm. “Hop in and wash up.” Once Peter finished and reached to turn off the water, Wade tacked on, “And you’re a big boy; you should be able to wash your dingle for yourself.”

“Daddy, please! You can’t. You just can’t!”

“Can, baby boy; I am. Now chop-chop.”

He bit back his next words for only a moment. _Absolute truth._ “’S not fair.”

A snicker escaped the bigger man. “You already have a date with Helen the hairbrush for bleeding my baby boy, and I’d hate to face her disappointment if you can’t show any more control over your baser urge than a common house spider.”

_Soapy hands and move fast…_

_Abort! Abort! Abandon ship; we’re going down fast._

“Oh, fuck, Wade!” Worst idea ever. “Please, Daddy! Your boy is dying here.” He managed to jerk back, but his lack of satisfaction scalded his ego. “May I come? Daddy, please, you gotta let me relieve the pressure!” His eyes blurred. He’d almost managed a full day without tears, but his hunk of burning sadism couldn’t have that. “Daddy, you’re forcing my hand.”

Wade’s chuckle made Peter smirk; he had the big man on the hook now. “You aren’t wrong, my anguished studmuffin. Go ahead and touch yourself.” While Peter had started stroking himself at the word go, the giant pain in his ass went on to add, “Just don’t come.”

Peter jerked back from his penis so hard and fast, pain blossomed where his funny bone hit the tiled wall. “Daddy, please, I’m already so, so close.”

“But Petey-wheetie-cakes, if you can’t love yourself, how are you gonna love me?”

He shoved a damp curl from his forehead as he teased, “That some cheesy ploy to get your sausage smoked?”

“Hmph. True, my dick holster wouldn’t be sassing Daddy if he were busy with bald brain surgery, but this isn’t about my pickle; it’s yours.” Wade crossed his arms, feigning anger. “Now put Daddy’s pretty, little hand on Daddy’s pretty, little cock.”

A tendril of rapture stabbed through Peter, stunning him. _Owned._ His lover’s presence in his mind gained the weight of conviction; he belonged with Wade. He’d never be able to untangle and extract himself. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, he’d never take another lover. His quest for belonging just ended with a whimper. Compelled by abiding devotion, he gingerly cupped his erection like a sacred duty at the altar of love, fealty its own reward. When Wade said he loved how Peter owned him, the younger man never imagined this plight, both a crisis of faith and a commandment to obey.

“That’s my good boy.”

“I hate how much I love those words.”

“Now stroke…” Wade slid his hand between Peter’s legs.

The younger man managed to wrap his thumb and forefinger near the base of his shaft.

“Stroke… stroke… stroke…”

At the precipice, fighting the fall with everything he had, he kept pace with his merciless lover. Obscene pained grunts echoed from the tile. The overwhelming urge to bring himself to climax warred against his stubborn desire to win at all costs. And inevitably he would lose.

_No, no, no, no, no!_

Peter toppled from the ledge. Slammed by his climax, he wailed an anguished battle cry of, “Wa-a-ade!” His rim flared, and the first bead pulled free. “Holy—!” The ease of pressure in his balls paled against the spasmic cramp of relief near his spleen.

“Scream for me. I love it.”

No problem. Peter howled, plaintive but passionate. Still convulsing long after he ran dry, his legs wobbled so much he damned near dangled from his beloved. Voice roughened, he panted jaggedly. Overwhelmed, overstimulated, overindulged…

Overjoyed.

Laughter bubbled from him, interrupting a string of nonsense that he registered as his own broken croak. He slid to the tile floor just outside the tub.

“Double-check that you’re still clean, then ass up at the end of the bed.”

_As if I can._ And Peter dissolved into renewed giggles. “Help… I’ve fallen… and I can’t… I fuckin’ can’t…”

“No LifeAlert, sweetcheeks. Two punishments and a nighty-bye spanking.” The bigger man tutted with mock consternation. “You should be more careful with that glorious ass.”

Peter managed to roll over. “Yes, Daddy. I’m touched by your concern.”

The sink ran as Wade replied, “Oh, you’re gonna be touched alright. Don’t make Daddy stop clean up to escort his boy to the bed.” His growl had a cruel edge that didn’t leave Peter shaking in terror, if only because he didn’t possess the strength. “You got ten seconds to get to your feet.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Hands, knees, kneeling, one knee, then oof, one hand on the wall, he forced himself to his feet by stubborn determination alone.

“There now. Be a good boy, and I’ll let you rest in the corner between sessions.”

The first round with Helen, he didn’t have the will nor the energy to fight. The second he cried in frustration but controlled his various urges: kick, slap, jab, bite, run! He walked from his corner to their bed without balking despite Wade’s harsh grip on the nape of his neck. Draped over his lover’s lap, he even enjoyed the pleasant massage of gentle fingers over heated skin.

The first slap of the bigger man’s hand on his abused flesh however, and Peter’s legs curled on instinct. The second smack, and he was kicking, wriggling, bucking, fighting. Wade wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him. Legs dangling, he bicycled them hard, eager to break free. In no time his lover had trapped his thin legs between the man’s meaty thighs. Peter’s elbow crashed into Wade’s ribs.

Wade snagged both wrists into one big hand. “Unh-uh-uh, baby boy.” He waggled the pointer finger on his free hand. “You can either safeword or accept your punishment. But no breaking bones just because you’re tired and cranky.”

“You fucking asshole! Lemme go!”

“No can do.” Wade resumed his diligent thrashing.

Physically subdued, Peter dropped his head to sulk. Flaming with indignant rage, he forced himself to tolerate the hornet stings that dominated his perception. He let himself sob, allowed the weakness because he had no choice. Though his emotions ran wild, he had only to endure.

Then strong arms wrapped around him. Pulled to the big man’s chest, Peter sagged.

With gentle petting and a soothing murmur, Wade calmed him. “That’s it my good, boy. Daddy’s so proud of how much control you showed. It amazes me every time you let me take you to that edge.”

Once guided to soft blankets, Peter permitted the spread of a cooling gel. Tucked in and held tight, he allowed himself to be comforted by the very man who broke him. “This feels so wrong.”

“Then why does it feel so amazing, my little spiderlove princeling?”

“I wish I knew.” Technically he understood the bodily mechanics, but that hardly accounted for the intense joy that settled into his bones after an intense exchange. “Psychologists must have a field day researching this.”

Wade’s knowing snicker generated questions Peter never wanted answered. Instead he pressed back into his lover. With Wade’s erection against his ass, he realized one important detail: “My cage!”

His concern sent the ex-merc into mad guffaws that made Peter’s entire world rumble.

“’S not funny. I need my cage.”

Half an hour later, equipment safely tucked away any and all physical stimulation, the younger man dozed off with Wade still beaming that same bemused grin.


	9. Day 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally gets some time uncaged. For reason.

Peter stared at the metal monstrosity in Wade’s hands. “That belongs on Stranger Things. What the hell is it?” At least the contraption distracted him from the fact that Wade’s book club requested “another showing of my sweet boy’s O-face.”

“A locking plug for that pert little ass, my darling arachnid.” After a moment of studying his beau, Wade added, “Of course, good boys don’t have to be locked in. And you’re a very good boy.” His soft chuckle stirred the younger man’s erection, but since it had nowhere to go, Peter tried to ignore it. “So will you wear a plug for Daddy?”

“But not that one?” he asked hopefully, glad the bigger man had given him an out. His humor had worn thin already, as their day had started rough and early. Apparently earning endless punishments in one day also earned a reminder spanking the instant he climbed out of bed. At least Wade planned to cook conciliation pancakes when they were done here.

“Not unless I catch you without this one.” Wade held out the now-familiar black one. “A reminder that that ass belongs to me?” _May I?_ Peter’s brain translated.

“Wait, what about ‘What Daddy puts in, Daddy takes out’?” Peter turned around and hiked his skirt and petticoat, his panties still around his ankles. He’d scrubbed them by hand and lay them flat to dry, a level of care his boxer briefs had never required. Still it made Yellow swoon with joy, which made Wade’s life more bearable, so Peter considered it a win.

Particularly since Wade’s husky laugh could almost bring him to creaming. “Daddy will let this be an exception, sweetheart. So long as you put it back where it belongs, in Daddy’s adorable little bubble butt.” He smeared lube along the length of the toy.

The cool slide at Peter’s core felt amazing in contrast to the heated cheeks surrounding it. “Thank you, Daddy.” Another worry popped into his head. “Do I have to wear this while I sleep?”

“Let’s try it out come Saturday and see how it goes. Daddy likes you plugged, but Daddy needs you happy, healthy, and well rested.” A pair of gentle taps signaled for Peter to pull up his underwear. “Now get to work, baby boy.” He hummed his appreciation of the smaller man’s form.

Peter scowled as he studied his chore list, brimming with more items this week than last. “Is dusting the lightbulbs a real thing that real housewives really do for realsies?”

“For realsies, my sweet little dumpling of domestic bliss.”

He harrumphed a bit as he took up the giant feather duster. “And this thing looks like the love child between a turkey and a magic wand. Where the hell do you keep finding this shit?”

“The internet is a wonderful place. Full of every perversion side-by-side with practical tips on keeping an immaculate home for the hard-working man of the house.”

That made Peter scoff. “Hey, you might be _a_ bread-winner, but I bring home the bacon too.”

“Is that some sort of sex thing? That’s some sort of sex thing. Shouldn’t it be ‘bring home the sausage’ though? Oh, wait, no, I’m bringing the sausage. And the bread. Or was it dough? Either way, I’m—”

“Point is I don’t rely on no man for my money.” Peter gave his full skirt a sassy shake.

“Which leaves my jack for cool things!” With an evil cackle, Wade twisted the key in the weird metal plug, opening the leaves. “So be a good boy, or you’ll be asking Daddy’s permission for every movement you make. Heh, get it, movement?”

Peter had his doubts on whether he’d let Wade use that thing, but he didn’t intend to screw up to find out. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re a spoilt rotten little shit this morning. Now get to work. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

While Wade sang and danced to the songs Yellow played in his head, Peter started in on the lightbulbs, intending to work his way down to the floors. Okay, yeah, apparently the fixtures and bulbs did need a good dusting. Not to mention the cobwebs growing in the corners.

The extra strong halogen light over his study area even had a brown funk singed to the glass. “I think we should replace this one with an LED,” he called out.

“Whazzat, Petey-pie? Can’t hear you.” After a short lag, he chided, “You need to be a big boy and come in here if you want to speak with Daddy.” Then he fell to laughing, no doubt amused by his own jibe.

Annoyed, Peter dropped from the ceiling with a thud. “No treating me like a little kid, dammit,” he grumbled as he followed Wade’s voice to the kitchen.

“Yeah, he’s adorable when he’s flustered.” Wade flipped a pancake onto the stack. “Fine, Mr. I’m a Full-Grown Adult, I’ll be all serious-wearious for you, baby boy.”

“No, you won’t.” He could feel his sullen mood souring, and he knew he’d better reel it in before it earned him another punishment. “But you don’t have to. I love your silliness, even when I’m being—”

“A little shit?”

His grousing certainly had not gone unnoticed, and in utter humiliation that he couldn’t control his temper more completely, Peter flushed hot across his ears and cheeks, even running down onto his chest. “Yes, Daddy. No more attitude. I’m happy to submit and serve, even when I’d rather not.”

Wade turned to shake his orange pancake flipper at him. “See you do, my snarky little arachnid. You don’t want to see what I can do to your backside with this spatula.” He paused to snicker, breaking the You’re-in-Serious-Trouble tone he’d gone to so much trouble to create. “Breakfast’s almost ready, so you might as well pull up a chair.”

As Peter gingerly slipped into his seat, the plug strummed to life. “Holy guacamole, I forgot about that.”

“Oh, can’t have you forgetting!” Wade dialed up the strength.

Melty and weak, Peter’s body buzzed in time with the vibe. “Mmm, thank you, Daddy.” Eyes closed he let his head hang, concentrating on the pleasure even as the tug of his erection grew to discomfort. “Please may your boy have his cock free?”

“No touchies?”

“Yes, Daddy, no touchies. Just… it’s starting to hurt.”

Wade sighed wistfully with a crooked grin. “…Yeah, perfect.” He pulled a necklace from his shirt, revealing Peter’s key at the end. “Okay, c’mere.”

“That was almost too easy.” Peter chuckled, but he gladly presented his package, eager for however long his lover might grace him with freedom.

“Told ya, baby boy, I like giving you what you want… There, now the best thing in life is free.”

After breakfast Peter faced a conundrum: He could either resist touching his aching erection or request the cage. Neither really appealed. In the end he made the safe choice after yesterday’s abuse of his backside. And his face flamed as he asked for his cage. He doubted he’d ever grow immune to blushing at the things Wade talked him into doing.

Instead of wandering off, the older man carried their plates to the kitchen and turned on the water.

Peter scowled. “Daddy, you don’t have to do the dishes; I’ve got that.”

“Of course you do, if that was what Daddy wanted—you _are_ a very good boy after all—but I promised I wouldn’t make Tuesday’s chores any harder on you than they have to be, so this mess is all mine.”

The urge to protest again rose, but the younger man bit it back. He didn’t even like doing dishes. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Each small act of service built up until his efforts produced tangible results. As the hours of chores wore on, a glimmer of pride ignited inside Peter.

“Damn, my arachnid of domestic perfection, this place is sparkly.” Wade pulled the smaller man into his crushing embrace.

“Thank you, Daddy; I’m glad you’re pleased,” Peter replied, practically gushing with his joy at the bigger man’s appreciation for his efforts.

Oh, that made Wade light up like Christmas and New Year’s combined. “Score!” He punched the air, then swung Peter over his shoulder. After toting the smaller man to the bedroom, he settled his favorite target across his lap and wasted no time in lifting Peter’s skirttail. “I can’t believe you agreed to any of this.”

“I can’t either?” Despite his exposed posterior, he stretched languidly. “But you’re having enough fun to make it fun for me too.”

“Even though it hurts?” To emphasize his question, he landed a pair of swats, one for each cheek.

“Yes, even though it hurts.” Peter let out a soft sigh. “Daddy, may your boy have a hard and thorough reminder to be brutally honest and always respectful?”

“Thought you’d never ask!”

A quiver of anticipation raced up Peter’s spine. The hard slap across his ass brought him instantly to panting against the harsh reality of asking for corporal punishment from the brute of a man. Even as the fire spread along his ass and thighs, his cock twitched in its cage.

Serious now, Wade asked, “How would you feel about White coming out to play?”

His sudden somber tone made Peter blanch. “Well, I mean, he can’t be worse than Yellow, right?”

“Not worse. But not better. Just different.”

“You made me nervous there for a second.” Peter gave a self-conscious chuckle with his hand running along the nape of his neck. “I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t be ready, so unless you have more to add, sure, let White out.”

“Fuck me if I’m wrong but have we met before?” The words had an angry edge that made Peter’s stomach churn.

“Whatever’s your pleasure.” He bared his neck to the more controlled but more bitter of the boxes.

“Oh, little prince, when I’m through with you, the neighbors will need a cigarette.” White nibbled along the proffered flesh. “Tell me what you want.” That command held an iron will that never belonged to Wade.

Peter fumbled for words and ideas. “Today I want to be an instrument of pleasure, to know I’ve… I’ve… I—”

“Today a fortune cookie told me that every exit is an entrance. Long story short, strip bare, then present that hot ass. Time for a massive screw.” While Peter complied, White cackled. As he sorted through the toybox, he grew ever more frantic and angrier. “Alright, avocado-face, where is it? You said you put it here… Oh, yeah yeah, right, I see it.” He pulled out a silicone screw, every bit of two feet long, plus a bundle of rope. With both deposited on the bed, he watched the younger man curve his back to show off his ass. “Elbows to the bed. Eyes to the wall. Stay right like that. Don’t move a muscle. White’s gonna tap that luscious ass alright.” Cold and efficient, he lacked the pleased amusement Peter had expected.

White’s footsteps retreated from the room but returned soon enough. “For my next trick I need a condom and a volunteer… Just kidding, we don’t need a condom.”

Peter’s Punishment Paddle ™ ran up his back, making him shiver. _Maybe I’m projecting; maybe I’m the one who lacks enthusiasm._ “Me, me, pick me! I volunteer!” Mind set on being more playful, he twisted from the shoulder to wave his hand in the air, eyes never moving from their focus on the imperfection in the wall that reminded him of a dog smoking a pipe.

“Oh, you do know how to bring a box to its knees, doncha?”

“Like you two would have it any other way.” Though Peter tried to shrug it off, satisfaction sank into his bones at the sure knowledge that he’d charmed both boxes.

White made a happy little snort. “If there’s any justice in this universe, then the meatsuit’s right about exactly one thing: you’ll be the final death of us.” With an irritated whine, he added, “We’ll get there, Yellow, so shut the fuck up, why doncha.”

Forever playing the ref, Peter reminded the other box, “Be good, Yellow, because I’m looking forward to Sunday.”

A soft sigh told him the other box had quieted. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Any time.”

A light tap across his sore ass made Peter jolt in expectation, but no pain followed. The gentle treatment continued, tap after tap, building a deep ache, though it could be arousal or bruising. Either way tendrils of lust reached up to choke him and down to make his legs quiver. He endured that ache building and building, dominating his attention even as he wanted it to recede.

“Please…” The first teardrop broke free. “Please, White…”

“Please what, you scrumptious little strumpet.”

“I feel like I’m about to explode, and I don’t even know why.”

The first harsh smack landed. “That’s not a request.”

“May this spanking be over?”

“Glad you asked. I was beginning to think you were impervious to my charms.” That smile could slice tin cans and tomatoes alike.

Frantic hits came harder and faster, still nothing compared to Wade’s or Yellow’s power, more an insistent and incessant barrage that left Peter craving so strongly that he rutted into the mattress.

A single dire smack brought his sober mind to the surface. “Ow, fuck!” He shot White a nasty glare.

Rage swirled in the gaze that greeted him. “None of that. I won’t have you fucking anything but me this afternoon.”

“Yes, White.” Through will alone, Peter stilled his hips and resumed staring down the wall.

At least Yellow wanted Peter to have fun. White apparently wanted him to suffer. Maybe the box resented the power he had over Wade and Yellow. If so it must hate the power the smaller man held over White himself. Peter put up no defenses as the beating continued long past the point where he wished it would stop. He’d be tender for a while after this, but he found no cause protest.

“Sex is meaningless, but as far as meaningless experiences go, it is pretty damned fun.” Wade’s form dropped the paddle to the floor. “Roll over.” Once Peter complied, White stuck the suction-cup base of the two-foot screw just above his caged penis. “Sweet. Now stand up so we can tie a harness to hold your new cock in place.”

As meticulous as Wade had been with his knots, White proved doubly so, each tested and adjusted before he moved to the next. Peter’s own cock disappeared behind a solid weave of rope, the screw sticking out from him as if it were indeed his own equipment. He continued to stare even after White tied off the rope.

“Well, are you gonna screw me, or do I have to lie to my diary?”

Trance broken, Peter got to work. He lubed the long, thin toy, then threaded it into Wade’s body, sinking and sinking and sinking before he reached the hilt with them both standing. Oh, how he longed to feel the heat of Wade’s body constricting along his penis as he pumped long strokes into White. For all the world, his brain promised he felt the velvet grip, yet no such sensation accompanied his efforts.

White’s happy sex babble only stoked Peter’s envy. He wanted to scream. Instead he took longer strokes at a frantic pace as his frustration continued to grow.

A ragged whine seeped from his chest. “Need release. Please, oh fuck, please. Don’t care if it’s ruined but I can’t… Not much more.”

“What’s a four-letter word every man’s afraid of…? More.”

With Wade’s body writhing on the fake cock, Peter force himself to continue, faster and harder, until he drew each breath in a great gasp. “Please, may I stroke you to completion now?”

“Oh, you are special. Meatface normally hires some stupid ass bimbo who can’t figure jack from shit. Pretty boy, you take your time and get me off, and we’ll see about a ruined orgasm for your own worthless little dingle.”

Flames raced over Peter. He wasn’t sure he completely hated White’s cruel barb. On one hand he wasn’t into humiliation, but on the other, Wade so often fostered the scorch of embarrassment that the sensation brought a sense of belonging to their encounter.

However Peter was dead certain Wade never wanted him to take disrespect from either box, bootcamp or no; it set a bad precedent. At the end of his rope with White’s attempts to infect the smaller man with the box’s nihilism, Peter sank to the hilt, wrapped one delicate hand around Wade’s throat, and growled in warning. “Never forget who’s head bitch in charge. Push me any harder, and you’ll be on your knees for the foreseeable future, my little cocksucker.” He reached around to grab Wade’s prick. “Now are you gonna be a nice white box and come for me, or do I have to break bad on your ass?”

Rather than reply White pumped into his fist with enthusiastic abandon. In mere moments his ejaculate landed in streaks across the bedspread. He hitched and giggled. “What's the difference between oral sex and anal sex? Oral sex makes your day; anal sex makes your hole sore for a week. Wait, no, that’s not right…” Wade’s massive frame shuddered. “Seriously, pull out. Like now.”

Biting back a snicker upon realizing the box had bit off more than it could chew, Peter pulled back, back, back, then took a step back to pull back some more. Finally the screw pulled free of his lover’s grip. “Better?”

Wade’s form nodded while he shook his ass like a hula girl. “Love is like a machine... sometimes you need a good screw to fix it.” That was the closest Peter would get to a verbal apology from the box. Instead White grabbed both of the smaller man’s testicles in one hand. “What do you have when you have a man’s balls?”

“Um?” Should Peter retaliate, participate, or simply wait? “I dunno, what?”

“His full attention.” White paused to cackle at his own joke before unlocking Peter. “The best things in life are free and worth every Penny Parker in all of fandom.” The white box either didn’t know or didn’t care that Wade had made that joke earlier, which suggested Yellow had the Beatles’ song on repeat. On a roll White continued to crack wise as he nuzzled and kissed the smaller man’s abs and groin with a sweet intimacy.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

Like a needle across a record, the world screeched to a halt.

The instant their eyes met, White burst into tears. “Even the moron’s right on rare occasion. You’re the only thing that makes life in this prune suit remotely bearable. Don’t leave us.”

Peter sat on the bed and pulled his lover against his chest. “Not goin’ anywhere. Promise. See, ’m right here.” He petted Wade’s bald scalp so very gently. “Yellow, listen to me: everything’s fine. ’M not angry and ’m not leaving. Please calm down. Nothing bad’s hap’ning, so you can stop punishing White. C’mon, that’s was hot, right? My little twink ass ready to pretzel you up and take charge? Hmm? You know you liked it. Come Sunday you can even command me to take charge if you want. I’ll manhandle you the way you like it best, my good little yellow box.”

“He quit screaming,” White murmured, though he remained dour.

Rocking and cooing, Peter held his boyfriend. “White, there’s no shame in asking for what you need. I can’t make you happy, but I can quit pounding everything from your ass to your spleen.”

With a giggle the box roared back to life. “If three people makes a threesome, and a couple makes a twosome, then show me what makes you handsome.”

Stunned by White’s rapid mood swing and disjointed statement, Peter needed an unreasonably long time to realize the box meant for him to masturbate, but once the idea hit, he worked his hypersensitive length as hard as he could without making himself wince. Seconds. He lasted mere seconds before the heat singed out from his crotch, enflaming every inch with pure need. Only his stubborn pride allowed him to release himself and let the come dribble from his neglected cock.

Still contrite and gentle, White nuzzled along Peter’s deflating penis. “Hmm, that was quick. Wonder if it’ll be the same when you’ve already come a dozen times?”

The box set to finding out. Sure enough each time Peter need more stimulation before he came.

When Wade’s hand engulfed Peter’s raw penis for the fourth round, he gasped with true pain. Sure, he had a dozen ways to stop White, but back in his role for bootcamp, he begged for mercy, endlessly repeating. “No more, please, no more.”

“Shh, shh, shh, I’ve got ya, baby boy.”

Peter leaned into Wade arms, his relief beaming a radiant smile for his lover. “Mmm, glad to see ya, Daddy.”

“Glad to be seen. Sorry that White went into a snit when his blind-as-Althea’s-ass couldn’t find the toy he picked. He never recovers quickly when something goes wrong.” Wade nuzzled Peter with gentle affection. “Looks like you’re gonna be uncaged tonight.”

“Yeah, White kinda forced me to come until I couldn’t anymore.”

“So I saw.”

“His sense of humor is actually worse than yours.” Peter gave a soft chuckle. “He should never be allowed within a million miles of anything SHIELD related. I can only imagine Director Fury’s reaction to his thought process.”

“Heh, don’t gotta imagine. Yeah, pisses Patches off pretty good. Ol’ Iron Britches ain’t no fan either.”

“Fuck anyone who doesn’t like White,” Peter muttered.

“That’s a lot of sex, baby boy, and you’re all sexed out. Why don’t you take a nap before patrol?”

“Mmm, sounds nice.” Peter tossed the ruined bedcover to the floor to await washing. “Lay with me until I relax?”

Wade allowed himself to be pulled into the bed. “Okay, baby boy.”

“I’ve taken so much already, and bootcamp’s not half done. Not even a third. Please tell me you’ve dreamed up a good reason for me to push through to the end.”

“Oh, even White agrees, it’s definitely adequate, even for the hell we’re putting you through.” Wade booped his nose. “Now close those peepers.”

Peter wasn’t feeling so nappish with Wade pressed to his side. “Lemme guess: Yellow’s singing ‘Jeepers Creepers” right now?”

“More a Poe-Parton fusion he stole off the web.” Wade shrugged. “Workin’ nine to nine, for a man who’s eye is creepy. That’s why I decide to assault him when he’s sleepy. But his heart still beats in the floorboards where I set it. It’s enough to drive me crazy if I let it.”

“’M startin’ to think your boxes have greater issues than the fact they are boxes in your head.” Peter giggled as he snuggled in tighter. “Yellow is a bloodthirsty maniac, and White just wants to watch the world burn.”

“Does not make our Petey-pie your Harley Quinn,” Wade rumbled, voice low with threat. “He’s here of his own free will. No fuckin’ Stockholm Syndrome needed, you batshit crazy asshole.”

“White, you couldn’t stop me if I wanted to leave.”

“Yellow might could,” the big man supplied.

Peter rolled his eyes with abandon at that one. “Thanks. So helpful.”

“Always glad to be of service, my sweetiekins.” He pinched both sides of Peter’s face until he puckered up like a goldfish. “Yeah… No, we don’t gotta have that wrapped around our cock just this exact second; dammit, Yellow, get your head outta the gutter and do the cuddle thing with the rest of us.”

“I’m flattered.” Peter curled into a sleeping position. “But I’m not the only one who’s chafed.”

Peter landed on a flat roof near home. “What a painfully peaceful patrol. Not even a single purse snatcher out tonight.”

“Aw, our Spideykins is bored.” Wade placed both hands to hold up his head as he blinked in adoration. “So damned cute I wanna puke.”

The younger man pulled his suit from his crotch. “Feels weird to have things just touch the junk.”

“Want me to fix that?” Wade’s mask managed to convey his lascivious grin just fine.

A question snagged on the tip of Peter’s tongue. “Of course you did. You brought the cage.” He glanced around to ensure no windows had a good view of them. Then he tugged his pants below his package. “Just get on with it.”

“Of course, my Majestic Arachnid Princeling of Love.” While Peter glowered, Wade snapped the cage over his cock. “You’ve been an insufferable little bitch all day. If I didn’t know better I’d think you needed a spanking.”

While Wade cackled, Peter edged backward, quite certain that this exchange could not possibly end in his favor. “No, I’ll be good.”

“Show me. Let me see you bear one trial with sweetness.”

Peter licked his lips nervously. “That requires a trial.”

“Indeed, my little arachno-hero.” Wade opened one his pouches. “One pole prison, one bar prison, what’s the difference; it’s around here somewhere…” Those Mary Poppins pouches never ceased to amaze. Case in point, the dildo on a pole. “So we’ll adjust it just high enough to keep your heels off the roof, and let’s see how long your sweet temper can last.”

Lacking a good reason, Peter couldn’t bring himself to say no outright. He folded his arms over his chest and tried not to glare bullets at the toy in Wade’s big hands. “May your boy attempt this once we get home? Fuck, please, Daddy, I don’t wanna do this here in the open.”

“I know, baby boy, but that’s why we gotta.”

Hang dog, Peter stripped, unwilling to let Spiderman be seen in such a compromised condition. “Okay. How do I—?” The question proved unnecessary as Wade removed his plug, wedged the pole under him, fitted the dildo into him, and adjusted the contraption to lift him. Peter forced a calm joy, hoping it would become genuine soon. “So now what?”

“Now we wait.” Wade let out a chuckle so evil it made Peter’s skin crawl in the certainty that this would be a greater challenge than it appeared. “Smile for the camera, baby boy.” He pulled out his phone to record Peter’s ordeal. “Rub those nipples; wanna see ya squirm.”

Keeping that gentle smile Peter rolled his nipples between his fingers, bringing them to hard peaks. “Mmm, thank you, Daddy. Makes my tummy all bubbly inside.”

Wade bit back a snort. “Oh, you are full of yourself tonight, baby boy. So—” he pulled out a remote “—let’s see what this bad boy can do.”

As his world shook and hummed, Peter yelped with a grimace.

“That’s as long as you can be sweet, Petey-pie?”

“No, Daddy.” Carefully schooling his face, he sought any wellspring of grace or joy. Aroused more than he anticipated, he managed a soft grin as he rocked atop the pole. “Feels so very good I forgot myself. Won’t happen again.”

“Unh-uh-uh, sweet boy, give me your absolute truth.”

That made Peter sigh in frustration. “Yes, Daddy, it’s hard to keep my sweet disposition when I’m not feeling so sweet about the vibrator holding me off the ground.”

“The more absolute your submission to the moment, the greater the sanctity of your present. In other words, accept each moment, even when there’s a pole stuck up your ass. That’s all you gotta do for now. The sweet disposition will come easier that way.”

Peter snickered. “So I see.” A fond smile settled over his features. “So if I just concentrate on how much I adore being your favorite sex toy, I should get through this just fine?”

“Exactly!” Wade beamed as he caught Peter’s unguarded smile on camera. “Endure thirty full minutes and I’ll give my boy a reward.”

Ducking his head, Peter felt his cheeks warm. “Daddy, you do give out the best treats.”

Wade whispered, “Doing so good, baby boy. Daddy’s so proud of your joyful abandon.” Every time Peter’s spirit flagged in impatience or annoyance, Wade teased him back to the desired headspace. “Mmm, so good for me. So very sweet. So very obedient.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter rocked on the vibrating dildo inside him. “Feels so good, Daddy.” Eyes closed he ignored his straining erection, preferring the subtle pleasure of fucking himself on the toy inside him.

“That’s it, baby boy; let yourself go. Abandon. Surrender. Give your all to me.” Wade kicked the younger man’s feet further apart, making his calves flex to keep him from being impaled. “Show me.”

Peter’s head wavered forward and back, eyes closed, mind transcended from the mundane to the sacrosanct of the moment, the present, the only thing that truly existed. His own hands fluttered across the expanse of his bare skin before again settling over stone-hard nipples. Every inch vibrated in a delicious longing that left him breathless with need.

Words more air than voice, he vowed, “All yours. Whatever you want, whatever you ask.” A hand trailed down to his cage. “If you say I suffer with joy, then I suffer with joy.” His body tried to hunch into his touch, but the restraint kept him from making more than a fractional effort, yet a steady dribble of come slicked his palm. “If you say be sweet, then I’m the nectar for your honey.”

“Fuck, yeah, you are,” Wade mumbled. The familiar rhythmic thwap of his hand along his cock brought the younger man a deep satisfaction.

Tumbling in empty space, Peter lost himself. Body shivering, heaving, seeking the release he was denied, he allowed every sensation, cherished each in the depths of his soul. Not coming, trapped in the bliss moment, this was rapture, the purest joy he’d ever known, and he never wanted the pleasure to end.

Gratitude and praise streamed from his lips in a hushed babble: “Never knew it could be this good, Daddy…” “Thank you thank you thank you…” “Anything. Anything you want. Everything. It’s yours. You have only to ask…”

Rippling contractions radiated from his core. Peter greeted their cramping pain and orgasmic pleasure with equal enthusiasm. Legs trembling, weak, he surrendered to the inevitable, allowing the strain to fade from his calves, his weight on the thumping phallus inside his body.

Wade came with a primal snarl that raised every hair on Peter’s hypersensitive skin.

“Da-a-addy, fuck, wanna come so bad but don’t want this to stop.”

“Nah, that don’t count; I don’t think he realizes how hard he’s sobbing.” Wade’s deep chuckle unfurled in a sensual stroke across his overtaxed body. “So close to that treat, baby boy; can you hold out just a few seconds more, be Daddy’s strong boy?”

Peter moaned. “I’ll be… whatever… you want.”

That admission struck hard at his psyche. This was precisely what it meant to give himself to Wade: an unpredictable ride that left him always wanting more and willing to do anything to get it. For a year he’d taken all Wade offered, but seldom had he given himself and never so completely. Vulnerable, soul stripped bare for his lover, he quaked with the sure knowledge that, from this moment forward, he’d give everything for the insane man who held his heart. In moments like this, he’d gladly empty his soul, then steal more to surrender on the altar of love.

He should be terrified. He knew that much. “How did I ever survive without you?”

“Unh-un-un, baby boy. Don’t even think like that. You’re a strong, independent spider who don’t need no man, remember?” The dildo’s vibrations cut off before Wade checked his Hello Kitty watch. “Made it but just barely. Let’s get you down offa there.” Forearm high on Peter’s thigh, he lifted the smaller man free. “Yeah, I know what he said, Yellow. Don’t mean it’s a good thing… Yeah, I hate it when White’s right too.” With Peter slung into a fireman’s carry, he barked out a sharp laugh. “Maybe so, but The Cult of Abandonment abandoned us, remember? Seemed we weren’t womanly enough to fill out an acolyte’s robes.”

Unceremoniously dumped on the bed, Peter bounced twice. He swiped his mask from his face but couldn’t possibly peel the rest of his suit off. How Wade had wriggled him back into the spandex, he had no idea. Limp, exhausted, sore from his belly button down, he lay quietly while Wade drew his bath.

In a Santa hat and beard made entirely of bubbles, the older man asked, “Ready for that treat, my scrum-diddly-upmtious baby boy?”

“Lemme guess,” Peter said as he rolled gingerly off the bed and onto his feet, “bubble bath?”

Wade harrumphed, arms crossed like a sullen child’s. “The world’s most luxurious bubble bath happens to be part of it.”

Then Peter caught the first whiff: citrus and floral and so sweet. “Oh, jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, Wade, that smells like nirvana.” He snickered when Yellow started in on “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” making Wade’s head bob to the familiar tune. “So I guess this is another internet find?”

“Uh, no. I found Babyganics Orange Blossom beddy-bye scent everything on the shelf. Nothing but the best for my baby boy.” The big man doubled down on his sulk. “’M saving the Twisted Bitch bath bombs for later.”

Giddy Peter flailed his way into Wade’s embrace. “Thank you, Daddy.” Despite his urge to protest baby products, it smelled too delicious to complain.

Wade turned off the overhead, leaving them in candlelight. Soft tinkly music played on his phone. He stripped them both before settling into the water and opening his legs. “C’mon in, baby boy; water’s almost as fine as dat ass.” He tapped for Peter to settle between his thighs.

Almost too hot, Peter sank into the water obediently, a sigh on his lips. “Mmm, feels amazing.”

“Gets better.”

Wade started by shampooing Peter’s hair, scratching lightly across his scalp. The soapy massage continued down his body, fingers sinking lightly into muscle.

Peter’s moan sounded like sex incarnate, even to his own ears. And it had friends, all sorts of sighs and groans. And Wade left nothing untouched from his tingling scalp to between his toes to the sore spot where his taint had rested on the balls of the one bar prison. The younger man expected he wouldn’t get an erection again until morning, but there it was bobbing eagerly below the waterline, a scant inch from where Wade worked his magic.

Tingling and needy, Peter bit his lip. He tried to push the haze of desire from his mind. Instead his lover’s touch brought him to whimpering and writhing.

His first wordless plea cut with the same desperate edge that the bigger man adored teasing from him. Lust filled his mind; his cock throbbed with relentless desire. He needed Wade.

Peter gasped, “Please, Daddy, wanna suck you.”

Wade only smirked.

“Lemme guess, they’re calling me a desperate, horny little slut.”

The crinkles around his eyes deepened, “Not in so many words, but yeah, pretty much. Yellow’s eager to fuck you in two. And White’s impressed with your stamina.” His smile waivered. “Why the hell shouldn’t I tell him that…? Oh, for fuck’s sake, Yellow, no.” He continues in a bleeting whine, “Ca-a-a-a-arl, that kills people. How could you not—?”

Kissing gently into the big man’s ever-running mouth, Peter silenced Wade’s impersonation of Paul from _Llama’s with Hats_. “Most annoying llama ever.”

Kneeling between the bigger man’s thighs, that ruined, chiseled body dominated Peter’s senses, begging him to explore with hands and lips and tongue. In full trust, he kissed lower, dipping below the waterline to catch Wade’s hard-on. The older man filled his mouth. One hand against his nape, Wade thrust deep enough to choke before pulling back, only to repeat the motion. Peter let the thick shaft drag between his lips, content even when his lungs screamed.

A moment later Wade pulled the younger’s face from the water. “Nothing’s sexier than the way you chose me over air, baby boy, but let’s dry off and take this to the bed before all that nice smooth skin prunes up.”

Peter let the water from the tub and allowed Wade to towel him dry. He followed the older man to the bed.

Wade flopped onto his back and motioned toward his erection. “Be my guest. Anything you want, sweetheart.”

“You are incorrigible.” Peter searched the nightstand for lube, then climbed alongside his lover. “Anything?”

Wade blinked warily. “Within moderate reason?”

“I’m not the unreasonable one in this relationship.” Peter crossed his arms in a mockery of indignation at having his own words turned against him. “Remind me why I’m playing house with you.”

“You love me?” The bigger man hid his flash of uncertainty behind a pompous smirk just one blink too late.

“That I do.” Peter let his posture soften. “All of you.” He leaned down to kiss his boyfriend, gentle and sweet. “I never thought I’d be able to love anyone.”

No less observant Wade caught the wisp of sadness in that confession. “’S alright, Petey-pie. I know you’ve lost people. No shame in missing them.”

Peter nodded, blinking the sting from his eyes. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I love you.” He set to kissing down Wade’s throat as he continued, “You let me be myself… Never dismissive, never demeaning… Never making me feel stupi—”

Wade’s loud guffaw cut him off. “Oh, baby boy, the last thing you are is stupid.” He slipped one big paw into the younger man’s hair and tightened it into a fist. “Stupid in love, maybe.” He hummed a few notes of the Rihanna song before he remembered they were talking. “I’m prob’ly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Yeah.” Peter couldn’t deny it, so why try? Instead he responded with Sinatra lyrics: “And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’.”

The corners of Wade’s eyes crinkled with fondness. “Less singy, more sucky-sucky.” He guided Peter lower with the fistful of hair. “Someone wants to say hi to your tonsils.”

“Incorrigible,” Peter repeated before licking a stripe from balls to tip. “Let me blow your mind.”

After placing both hands behind his head, Wade stilled. “Whatever makes you happy, my sweet love muffin.”

“You.” Peter settled between his legs and bent double. That alone drew an appreciative hum from his lover. With a hand on either side of Wade’s cock, thumbs around the base, he lowered his lips to kiss the head. “You make me happy.” A flick of his tongue, then he swallowed until his lips reached his hands.

His happy murmur came out as a muffled groan. Before bootcamp he might have been just the tiniest bit selfish in bed, but fully attuned to his lover’s pleasure, he wanted Wade to moan, to writhe in need just as he had all day. He set a teasing pace, using his arms to keep the squirming man from gaining enough friction to peak before he was damned good and ready.

“Ungh, Petey, that has to be twelfth base by now!” Wade hunched at him again, the smaller man’s entire body lifting from his efforts. “Wanna come.” He wrapped a hand around Peter’s wrist and tried to tug his hand free. “Aw, now don’t tell me what you want is payback for keeping you all hot and bothered. It’s a bootcamp; it’s not supposed to be pleasant.”

Peter pulled back with a slurp. “Maybe. Maybe it’s payback for making me come in front of your book club.”

“Oh, right, so what ya say, honey bunches, wanna come for them again on Monday?”

“Same place?” he asked, certain he’d never have the nerve without the masks.

“No, well, maybe…?” Wade flashed a sheepish grin. “We’ll see?”

“I just don’t want anyone learning that Spider-man gets freaky in the sheets. It’s hard enough to get respect without people thinking I’m some sorta degenerate sex fiend.”

“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry about the book club, my little arachnid of much overthinking. Everyone agreed: you’re the purest soul ever to walk among us.”

“Really? You think I’ll believe that load of crap?” Peter tried to soften the blow with a few little licks along the underside. “No one thinks that after someone puts on a sex show.”

“Pure as the driven snow. Have I ever lied to you?”

He thought on that a while. “Fine, I’ll do it. So long as I can keep my identity a secret.”

“Mum’s the word, baby boy… Though… you do know they read the paper…?”

“And they see you and me… Oh, god, my life is over. It’s only a matter of time before Stark pieces everything together, and now your damned book club knows you’re dating Spidey? Shoot me. Just shoot me now.”

“Aren’t we being a tad dramatic?” Wade asked. “They don’t _know_ any more than anyone else. They just suspect. Because of pictures _you_ took, by the bye.”

Peter groaned and flopped over Wade’s groin. “So I did this to myself. Great. Seems like that’s always the case.” When Wade’s erection bobbed against his chest, he sighed. “Don’t worry, junior, just need to discuss some things with Mr. Katana’s smarter-thinking brain before I get back to sword swallowing.”

“Hey, that last one was a great pic.” Wade slid a knuckle under his chin and lifted his face. “You were right to submit it, and Triple J was right for putting it on the front page.”

Despite his best efforts, a satisfied smile slipped into place. “I know—it was pretty great—but Spidey has a reputation to uphold.”

“Nobody likes perfection. Except me. I love how perfect you are. Everyone else though? Fuck all those perfect people.”

Peter smirked. “You just love defiling my perfection.”

“That too.” Passion blazed in Wade’s gaze. “I’d ruin you a hundred times a day if I thought your healing factor could keep up.”

With a breathless gasp Peter asked, “Oh? Show me.”

In a heartbeat Wade had him flipped onto his back, arms overhead and pinned to the mattress. The lube bottle snapped open, then closed. Without further preamble, that luscious heat-seeking missile locked onto its target. Impaled, helpless against the onslaught of carnal affection, Peter released his worry. Tomorrow could handle itself, and he refused to ruin this intense dicking with concerns outside his sphere of control. Instead he channeled all that energy into connecting with Wade.

“That’s right, baby boy, look at me.”

“Mmm, like what I see.”

Wade shook his head. “Only you…”

“Like what I feel.” Peter latched a hand at the nape of the bigger man’s neck.

“Yeah, me too, sweetcheeks.” Though buried to the hilt he leaned down for a chaste kiss. “You make me feel human.”

“Yeah? You make me feel special.”

He snorted at that. “’S because you are special.”

“’M not. Not really. Oh, Spidey’s special alright, but me? Nobody looks twice at me.”

“Book club wants to.”

Peter tried not to laugh but failed miserably. “Fine, I’ll give your damned book club another show. If Spidey gets a reputation, then so be it. Long as Aunt May’s safe, who really cares what people think?”

“That’s the spirit!” Wade’s thrusts grew agonizingly slow. “But they’ll never see what I see.”

“What’s that?” A whine followed, such a needy sound, laced with all the want accumulating in Peter’s body.

“All of you. Every bit of your flesh and mind. Laid bare for me.”

Of everything Wade had done to him, that one line cut more than all the harsh abuse and cruelty. Peter’s heart ripped open in his chest. In every flaw, Wade saw the underlying framework of emotional baggage, more sorrow than Peter cared to recall, enough to scare off anyone with a shred of sanity. Not only did Wade stay, he adored all the things Peter hated in himself. Where the younger man saw only weakness, the elder teased out the strength without shaming the vulnerability. Instead of seeing a pathetic lost soul, Wade welcomed him with an adoration that bordered on worship. When Peter most deserved to be kicked to the curb, the bigger man proved a kindred spirit. Oh, Peter understood how to calm the ex-merc’s expectation of abandonment because he knew those fears intimately.

“You know me and you still love me.” His observation had a watery character that Peter could have lived without.

“’Course I do, Petey-pie.” Wade stopped mid-stroke to study him. “Somehow, some fucking way I’ll never understand, you killed me.” At Peter’s stricken wince, he hurried to add, “Not like that, well maybe once or twice like that in the various narratives over the years, but no, you destroyed the me-that-was so there’s room for the me-that-is. When I threw Peter Parker from that bridge, it never occurred to me that it could end with my beloved Spideykins in my bed.”

Peter flushed at the memory. “Sorry for pulling your mask off like that, and those things I said, totally out of line—”

“No need to apologize the first time, much less again. You weren’t wrong. I was ugly inside and out.”

Peter suffocated his urge to cry under a façade of anger. “Don’t talk about my boyfriend that way.”

“Darlin’ Petey puddin’ sweet, the me-that-was was a real asswipe. Your beau is the me-that-is, and I like that guy a shit-ton better.”

Peter slapped his shoulder. “You’re still an asswipe.”

“Ah, but now I’m your asswipe.” Wade resumed his slow fuck with a gleeful giggle. “And I love everything about your ass.”

The next quip died on Peter’s tongue as his eyes rolled back in sheer, overwhelming pleasure. Aching, tingling, lost to the world, he rode the wave of ecstasy that Wade created for him. That bliss moment stretched into minutes before a strong hand gripped his weeping cock.

“That’s it, baby boy. You look ready to come for Daddy.”

Peter gasped out, “’M so close. Please, so very, very close.” Torn between competing desires, he had no clue whether he was begging for a complete orgasm or another of the familiar ruined ones that left him always wanting more.

He got no choice, milked through the convulsions of an Earth-shattering orgasm until his toes curled, until he begged, “No more, please, no more.”

“How’s that for a treat?” Wade asked, still ball’s deep as he released Peter’s spent dick.

“Perfect.” Peter sagged, boneless in his afterglow.

“Good. You ready for treat time to be over?”

“Yes, D—” As Wade picked up his pace, Peter grabbed for anything he could catch to brace himself. “Dammit, Wade, really?”

“Mmm, you better believe it, my little sourpuss of adorableness. Told ya, a hundred times a day.” Still he slowed until Peter relaxed. “There. Now lay back and think of England or something. Daddy’s enjoying himself way too much to stop… unless you ask him to stop… then he’ll always be gl—”

“England?”

“Something they used to tell women, like, I guess bearing children for the sake of crown and country?” Wade shrugged. “Now be a good boy and let me have my wicked way with you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter grinned as he peered up through his lashes, projecting the innocence and wonder that Wade adored so much.

Incredulous, spent, Peter felt entirely too tired for this shit plus another accursed spanking before he could drop his head to the pillow. After so much hard use, he expected to be hypersensitive, gritting his teeth against Wade’s grind. Instead he found himself greeting his lover’s rough affections with not just enthusiasm but outright zeal. Questions buzzed at the edge of his mind, but his lust-saturated brain refused to focus on anything but the thrilling heat that radiated from his core.

Panting, bucking—gah, could he be dying?—Peter whimpered from the scorching desire that pooled in his groin. As his need grew sharp, he gave a pained wail. Ears ringing and vision tunneled, he teetered on the edge, desperate to fall. When Wade’s hips hitched and stuttered, the bigger man’s release gave Peter the shove he needed to topple from that precipice.

Steamrolled by wave after wave of spasms, Peter quaked. Body eager to spend his load, nothing remained to pump onto his straining abs. With one last convulsion of every muscle in his body, he lay limp in Wade’s embrace.

After several minutes of recovery, Peter wet his lips nervously. “Listen, before I ask this, I need all three of you to pay attention: I’m not mad. And even if I’m right I’m not gonna become mad. But that complete desperation felt mighty familiar. So I gotta ask: did you dose me with sex pollen?”

“Shut up.” Wade pounded the side of his head with the meaty edge of a fist. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. I know what the fuck you said, ass—”

“White, stop it. There’s nothing for me to bitch about, much less you. Aphrodisiacs were on the list, and I know I checked it off. Just never occurred to me that Wade kept a stash of the sex pollen.”

Wade’s weight crushed across his ribs. “Fuck, can they never shut up?”

“Hey, Yellow, how about grabbing your spank bank and heading off for some quality alone time?”

The bigger man glanced around. “Heh, he took your suggestion.”

“If I can get White to fuck off too, can I have a Get Outta Spanking Free card for tonight?” Peter chuckled softly. “I’m so, so tired, big guy. Just wanna fall into a dead sleep until the alarm goes off.”

“Baby boy, if you can get them to really leave us alone for five minutes, you can have anything you ever dreamed of. I’ll fuckin’ make it happen no matter what it takes.”

“White, buddy—” Peter stifled a yawn with his fist “—you fuckin’ owe me one. How ’bout it? Five minutes alone.”

Like a dog chasing his tail, Wade turned in circles, searching. “They’re gone. Holy shit, Petey-pie, not a box in sight.” He took a deep breath and settled back overtop Peter. Voice hushed, he observed, “So quiet. Is this what it’s like for everyone else?”

“Prob’ly.” Peter strained for breath but didn’t want to break up the intimate moment by pushing the bigger man off him. “Hey?”

“Mmm?”

“Love you.”

Wade buried his face in Peter’s neck. Sobs evident in his voice, he whispered, “Love you too, baby boy.”


	10. Day 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tease and denial, more impact play, a bit of fancy photography, some couples yoga, an embarrassed Stark, and *ta-da!* Wade's answer on why he wants to finish bootcamp. Enjoy!

The alarm jolted Peter from a vague but pleasant sex dream. Without his cage, he’d entwined around Wade to hump against his thigh. Now the younger man understood why Wade had chosen yesterday for the sex pollen; otherwise the cage would have exerted an excruciating pull on his balls this morning.

For the only time he could remember, he felt refreshed as he silenced the alarm.

Wade, however, groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, even as he wrapped one large hand around Peter’s leaking cock. “The sun ain’t even up yet. You eggheads really can’t wait another hour before sciencing shit?”

“Nope.” With an aroused whine, Peter snuggled down beside his boyfriend to prolong the warm and happy moment. “You’re lucky I’m just a lowly intern. Pretty sure Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner both sleep in their labs most of the time. And all the senior staff loses track of time. Forget to eat, sleep—”

“Oh, now I see: it’s peer pressure!” Voice high, Wade teased, “But all the other science spiders do it.” He rolled atop the smaller man, never slowing his ministrations. With his free arm he raised up to watch Peter’s expressions. “If they went bowling for commuters down the Brooklyn Bridge, would you?”

“Don’t think that’s how the question goes.” Hopelessly enamored, Peter grinned up at his lover. “’M not the one with self-control issues.”

“Hey, I can restrain myself! Otherwise, I’d already be riding you, baby boy.” A bop to the smaller man’s nose, and he snatched the lube from the nightstand. He aligned his body with the hard cock in his grip. “You’re the one who can’t keep his hands off this dick long enough to shower.”

With a soft chuckle Peter conceded, “Okay, okay, I’m outta control while you’re master of all you survey.”

“Damn right, I am, my darling Petey pun’kin of spidery adorkableness.” Wade eased his weight down onto Peter. Lips against the younger man’s neck just under his ear, he crooned. “’M already daydreaming about what I’m gonna to do when you get home from work.”

Peter squirmed from the intense sensations. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“’S a surprise.” Setting a gentle rhythm, Wade nuzzled deeper into the curve between Peter’s neck and shoulder. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin your surprise, now would we? Nah, much rather you text me your guesses all day. Do that for me, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” As a puff of breath tickled across his sensitive skin, Peter giggled. “But we’ve gotta hurry this along. I’ve gotta get up and get showered and dressed and spanked and out the door. Don’t wanna be late again.”

“Don’t forget your cage and your plug.” Wade purred the words into the ticklish spot he’d found.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Peter gasped, his next words lost to the intense pleasure of Wade’s heat along his shaft. “Come for me, Daddy?”

“Nuh-uh, I’m still in charge, and don’t you forget it.” He slid free of Peter before pinching over his ribs. “Follow me.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Curious now, the younger man trailed Wade to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. “Mmm, shower sex.”

“Once you’re clean and alert. Then I’ll come. Then you might get to come for me, my sweet little love arachnid.”

The way Wade stepped into the water without a single wince said it was a low pain day, Peter’s favorite of all the things in existence. The older man would try to cram as much fun into their lives as he could before the pain flared up again.

Still Peter took a bated breath to appreciate his boyfriend’s rippling form. So much power coiled beneath that skin, and unlike himself, Wade had the bulk to prove it. All scars healed closed, a low telomerase day, Peter knew he’d want to show off instead of hide. “Wanna join me for lunch?” He waited until Wade formed words at the tip of his tongue before pressing his aching cock into the bigger man’s willing body.

“Oh, fuck me, so fuckin’ good.” Head thrown back, he groaned. “Don’t even think about stopping.” A few pants later, he glanced up and to the right. “Oh, yeah, right, lunch.”

Peter slowed to a teasing pace. “Mmm-hmm, lunch. How ’bout it?” He soaped his hands before stroking the bigger man’s thick, pulsing erection, enjoying the way Wade again lost his train of thought, overwhelmed by the arousal.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“I love how you react to me. So completely at my mercy.”

Wade thrust into Peter’s grip before shoving back onto his cock. “Just don’t stop.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Other hand bruising Wade’s hip, Peter pulled the former merc back until he sank flush. “But I’ve definitely got… some new ideas… for after bootcamp.”

That was all it took.

Wade jerked and froze as his balls emptied onto the shower wall. Moments later he turned and sank to his knees. Before Peter could finish a quick spot cleaning, Wade had his cock soaped, rinsed, and swallowed. He jerked back and stuck out his tongue under the fresh water. “Bleh, mithed thome thudth.”

“What you get for washing my mouth out with soap.”

“Uh-huh, and ask me what you get for sassing Daddy.”

“Sorry, Daddy. What do I get for sassing you?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Wade stood and exited the shower.

“No fair! So very fucking not fair!” Peter gave the rest of his body a cursory rinse and stepped out after his love. Aching, pulsing cock in hand, he asked, “You gonna fix this at lunch?”

“I might.” Wade handed him a towel before using a knuckle to raise his gaze. “I might let you suffer.”

“Oh, I’m already suffering.” Peter blotted the water from his groin. By the time he’d finished toweling the rest of his body, Wade could fit the cage on his softened erection.

“Turn around and lean over the sink.” In his hands the black plug gleamed with lube. Once Peter obeyed, he slid the toy into place. “There. A nice paci for you to suck on to keep from getting fussy before lunch.”

“Ew!” Peter slapped him in the shoulder a bit harder than intended. “Icky, icky, icky…”

Wade hummed a bit before singing, “Yummy, yummy, yummy, I got love in my tummy, and I feel like loving you. Babe, your such a sweet thing, a good enough to eat thing, and that’s just what I’m not gonna do.”

“Don’t think that’s how the song goes.” He squirmed against the constant stimulation but went to get dressed.

After breakfast he turned his chair around and knelt. Taking a deep breath, he let his hands settle on his knees. He dreaded what came next. Since yesterday had been relatively easy, today would be a nightmare. “Daddy, your boy failed to take care of your own, then tried to cover that up. Will you remind your boy to be honest and to be more careful with the one you love?”

“Why, I’ll be glad to, sweetheart. Kiss Peter’s Punishment Paddle™, then assume the position.” As he held the wood out to Peter’s lips he added, “And don’t think you’ll be wriggling outta wearing Peter’s Punishment Pyjamas again any time soon, Mr. Takes Life Too Seriously.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Once Peter oh-so-very-reluctantly dropped his pants and leaned over the chair, nothing happened.

“Don’t move a muscle.” Wade let out a soft, slow sigh. “I’ll never tire of dat ass, baby boy. Never. I hope to die my final death in service of your bootylicious backside.”

Peter barely let out a giggle before the first sting of the day landed, jolting the plug a fraction of an inch deeper. At five he tightened his grip on the chair to keep his hands from developing a mind of their own and trying to protect his backside. At ten he lost count, broke into sobs, not from pain but from the fact that his efforts to keep from upsetting Wade had, in reality, upset his lover enough to ask for this pound of flesh, no once but a good hundred times, to ensure it’d never happen again.

He knew hiding the way he’d neglected himself in his lover’s absence didn’t make him a bad person, but the shame ate at him anyway. Once the last flurry of smacks died away, he heard his heartbroken voice repeating, “I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby boy. I know you are.” Wade’s strong arms wrapped around him, lifted him, seated him in the bigger man’s lap. “It’s okay; everything’s okay. You’re forgiven; you’ve been forgiven since the second you came clean. Do you wanna pineapple out?”

“No.” Peter paused to sniffle against the bigger man’s solid chest. “I just… Daddy, thank you for forgiving your boy. It won’t happen again.”

“I know.” Wade clucked his tongue. “I know it won’t, and even if it does, that won’t change anything.” Humming something obscure he rocked Peter in his arms. “But it won’t. You’re already more afraid of lying to me than telling me the truth.”

“Is that what bootcamp ’sposed to do?”

“Kinda.” Voice tight Wade sounded off. “So long as you’re not afraid of me, I wanna keep going to the end and see where it takes us.”

“Everything okay in there?”

“Just White being White. ’M pretty used to it by now, but it’s still hard.”

Awkward with his pants at his ankles, Peter straddled Wade’s hips and met his eyes. “Hey, Whitey, everything’s perfect. It’s okay that I feel shame for doing something that upset Wade. Normal and healthy.” He slid his feet behind Wade’s calves, pulling his pants tight across the bigger man’s shins. “You boxes have been really sweet lately. Thank you.” Summoning all the affection in his body, he pressed his lips to his lover’s.

The return closed-mouth kiss had a nervous edge.

“My full and complete truth: I’m so very glad to be with you. All of you. Even if I could snap my fingers and will you away, I wouldn’t. Not when you’re so very good for me.”

For a long moment Wade’s body sat frozen. Then he blinked a few times. “I think you’ve killed him. Can boxes have a heart attack?”

“Wade, how the hell would I know something like that? Although I doubt it.”

He snickered. “Oh, I love how much you hate to admit you don’t know.”

“Hmph, just remember bootcamp has a finite lifespan.” Pride wounded, Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “After that I’m back in the driver’s seat.”

“Yes, my little buttercup. After that, this ass is all yours.” The bigger man cackled at his own wit. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“May your boy put away his caged cock and head out to work now, Daddy?”

“Go on, git.” Wade swatted his ass as he stood up. “Have a good day, and I’ll meet you for lunch.” While Peter tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his pants, the big man added, “And don’t forget to text your guesses my way. If I were you, I’d start with anything left on the checklist that particularly caught my eye in hopes my lover will add it to the mix.”

Peter laughed as he flounced to the door. “Yes, Daddy.”

An hour into his workday, Peter got a moment to text, “Fluorescent paints and blacklight.” It sounded like something they’d enjoy no matter what Wade had in store for him. At the beginning of his official break, he sent, “Boudoir photography,” on the off chance that the scarred man would let him take some photos today. He hadn’t received a return text when he had to go back to work, but he still added, “Anal hook with predicament bondage.” When Wade still hadn’t texted back by a half hour before lunch, Peter shrugged it off. “Fox tail and ears.”

That made him giggle a bit; he had no interest in pet or animal play, but once Wade whispered, “Imagine how good that’ll feel on your ruined thighs,” Peter was sold on the idea.

At lunch time he stood up and stretched before checking his phone again. Still nothing. “You alive in there? Coming for lunch still?” he texted.

A laugh brought his attention to the door where Wade held his phone. “Oh, better believe I’m coming for lunch.”

The plug inside Peter roared to life. “Daddy! Daddy, please!” When it dialed down to a silent thrum, he sagged in relief. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“My pleasure, my scrumptious little tart.” He gestured for Peter to step into the hall. “Sorry there’s no room for any of those suggestions in tonight’s agenda.”

“Oh no, how will I ever survive?” Peter teased.

“I’ll show you soon enough.” With those ominous words, Wade led them to his room.

Once inside, Peter gasped. “Is that _my _camera.”

“Most certainly not!” Wade giggled. “Yours is safe at home right where you put it. This just happens to be the exact make and model. Think of it as a backup.”

“So why’d you break out the big lights? I’d planned some softer shot of you, nothing that requires those fire hazards.”

“Oh, sweet princling, you’re the subject, not the photographer.” Wade chuckled. “Those are charging lights to make the glow in the dark paint show up. Check out the black lights on the tripod.”

“…Did you rig my tripod into the predicament bondage?”

“Yup.” Wade killed the vibrations on the plug. “Too bad the hook and the tail can’t be used together, but I’ve got something special in mind for Foxy Peter.”

The younger man started peeling off his shirt.

“Damn, stop right there.” Wade grabbed the camera. “I love the way your hands are holding your shirt open like you’re offering yourself to me. Oh, gah, real slow, baby boy. Mmm, so fine. Yeah, pants too. Take it all off and show me what’s mine.” He swatted at the air over his head. “Fine, ours. Show us what’s ours, sweetness.”

Once he’d stripped bare, Peter bent at the waist, dropping down until he wrapped his arms around his knees. Muscles tight, the stretch burned as Wade plucked the plug from Peter’s body.

“That little whimper was outright sinful. I wanna be in you so bad it hurts.”

“Ngh, yeah, hurts. Daddy, may your boy please, please, please have a little time outta his cage?”

Wade’s chuckle held a sadistic edge. “Not sure what I have in mind will be an improvement, but sure thing, sweet cheeks, let Daddy free your cock.” When Peter stood, he unlocked the cage and stroked the younger man to a full erection. “Mmm, rock hard. Gonna wanna ride that like a pogo stick again soon, baby boy, but for now, let’s get you strapped down before painting you up.”

With all the rigging in place around the bed, Wade needed only a few minutes to have Peter trapped so that anytime he let off the pressure on his balls, he cut down his air. A tether from the ceiling helped him maintain stability, but it tied into the line that ran from the hook in his ass, over both shoulders, through his legs, and up to the soft, wide collar at his throat, meaning the assistance came at a dear price. Wrists secured behind his back, if he tugged too hard, it would knock over the tripod but release the main stress lines.

Peter could always just force his way free, but he appreciated the effort to make something potentially dangerous so much safer. “Lemme guess, ‘And White helped’?”

“Oh, believe it, baby boy. He’s being a very nice box today. Thanks for spending special alone time with them. Both boxes are so much happier when you acknowledge their existence.” Wade caressed the curve of Peter’s ass. “My collar looks good on you.” He got the paints and patted the first strokes onto Peter’s lips. “Baby boy, ’Nessa gave me the original of that collar. It’s time to at least discuss collaring me for yourself.”

Once Wade moved on to lining around his eyes, Peter replied, “I never thought about it… It’s a pretty big step, right?”

“Can be. If you want it to be.” Wade shifted back, but the smaller man still caught the absolute want in his expression.

A larger brush tickled as it ran down his side. “Mmm, Daddy, I’d love for the world to know you’re mine.” Seconds ticked by, no words, no painting, nothing. Maybe Peter misread his lover’s cues. “I mean, we don’t have to tell anyone. It could just be between the—”

“Fuck no! I want you to tell everyone my ass belongs to you. Just… are you sure? Because, I mean, retired or no, I’ve done some things that’d ruin Spidey.”

“Don’t care.” Peter shivered as the paintbrush ran up the underside of his hypersensitive cock. “Spidey’s important, no question, but me? I’m tired. I’m tired of hiding, tired of worrying, tired of lying. And all for what? To protect people who die because of me anyway.” A spent sigh forced its way out his nose as Wade added another stripe along his flank. “That reminds me: May called. She and Jameson’s dad are back from Curacao. Wants us to visit this weekend. Is Saturday tea good?”

“Any time is a good time to see Miss May. White, make certain we’re in Boston by four on Saturday.” He plonked the wide brush on Peter’s nose. “Ready to charge this stuff?”

“Sure.” Cross eyed Peter stared at that last splotch of paint, while the bigger man flicked on the strong lights and placed the largest between the trussed man and the camera. “Er, yes, Daddy.”

Didn’t matter that he’d corrected himself, Wade still left a handprint of paint right in the middle of his ass cheek nearest the camera, the only glow at the moment the distinct sting of the slap. “Hmm…? Yeah, me too, but our precious precocious Petey-pie doesn’t screw up enough to make that any fun.”

Peter wanted to run his hand along the man’s jaw but had to convey his yearning and adoration with only his eyes. “I will if you tell me to.”

“It’s no fun that way! Where’s the challenge in that?!” Wade’s mouth hung open. “We can’t just tell you to screw up! We have to _make_ you screw up!”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter smirked at the undeniable fact that he worked hard to keep from making mistakes. “I’ll give you my best.”

“That’s better.” Wade tugged the line that lifted his ass higher, thus adding more pressure to his throat and his junk.

For now Peter let himself choke. Voice ruined, he said in a breathless purr, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Wade released him to stroke his own hard cock. “That gets me every damned time.”

Pleased, Peter couldn’t stifle his laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?”

“Yes, Daddy. And I love making you that hard with just three little words.”

Wade harrumphed. “Not those three words, Yellow. Those just make our heart swell like it’s gonna burst. Pay attention or quit asking questions.” Yellow must have replied with something mighty funny since Wade’s laugh bent him double. “Okay, okay, you’re right; he is more distracting. Now let us get back to torturing our love muffin. We gotta get the photos done, get him fed, and then get him get back to work in… forty-seven minutes. And if there’s a second to spare, I wanna fuck that perfect, innocent face before we send him back to the Iron Dildo’s virgin vault.”

“Jeez, Wade, you do—”

The bigger man limited his air with a slight tug. “Daddy does what Daddy pleases for the time being, Mr. Smarty Pants.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

While the paints charged, Wade tugged the ropes of his bondage, moving from target to target. In one moment Peter fought to breathe, in the next his ass lifted so high, his cock and balls screamed for him to choke himself instead. Those big hands roamed his body like they owned him, and Peter cherished the sensation of being the sole focus of his attention despite the bigger man’s distinct lack of mercy. With the tweaks to his nipples and the slaps to his near-pristine ass, Peter’s cocked throbbed. Aroused beyond tolerance, he rutted the air even as the effort tugged the hook until he could barely pull enough air to pant.

“Daddy, please, touch me; ’m so fucking horny. Please, just a stroke.”

Warm and wet, Wade’s tongue teased under the head of his cock.

“Mmm, so good. Thank you, Daddy.”

Instead of swallowing him down like they both wanted, Wade tugged the hook until Peter’s back swayed. “Time to cut the lights and snap some juicy pics, baby boy. Otherwise, I’m gonna just fuck you in two like Yellow wants.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter held the pose, even though it made the collar uncomfortably snug. In the black light, the white ropes glowed an unexpected pink, while the orange blotch on Peter’s nose again drew his attention. Even the liquid drizzling from his desperate cock glowed a faint purple. “Please, Daddy, may your boy come?”

“Feel free to jerk off as I snap the photos.” Wade snickered.

Just the knowledge that he had permission made Peter hump twice as hard. “Hurts to be this horny.”

“Makes you so nice and squirmy, and I love to watch you squirm.”

As Wade snapped a few final photos, Peter whined and whimpered, his need so much greater than he’d anticipated. Once the ceiling light flooded the room, he decided he’d do anything to get relief. “Daddy, please, let me come. I can’t take this kind of need, this utter and complete longing for relief. Please, may your boy ha—”

A cock in his mouth cut off his begging. With no hope of even a ruined orgasm, he sealed his lips around the velvety hardness. Humming soft and tuneless, tongue fluttering along the sensitive underside, he took Wade as deep as he could. When a hand in his hair forced him to swallow another inch, he sputtered from the strain against his collar more than choking on cock.

His entire body pulsed with need, and his hips never stopped fucking the air. The hook put just enough pressure on his prostate to make the hopeless motion worth the high cost for his abused rim. Absolutely writhing, he focused on pleasing the cock that stroked over his tongue. His lips tingled from his efforts, and he knew they had to be a brilliant crimson under the paint.

Wade sank deep as tartness burst into Peter’s mouth. Satisfied enough for the moment, he swallowed around his lover’s softening cock, pleased to know he’d performed well. At the release of tension on the hook, he sank to the bedding.

“Mmm, so good. Thank you, Daddy.”

“Now let’s get you dressed and fed. There’s a cafeteria around here, right?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Wrists now free, he worked feeling back into his strained arms. “The people-watching is good and so’s the apple pecan salad with cranberries and blue cheese.”

Wade scoffed. “Are you trying to feed me something healthy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Fine, but I’m taking it out on your hide later.”

“Yes, Daddy.” That threat made Peter blush so hard he had every right to burst into flames. “May your boy get dressed now?”

“Gimme a sec.” Wade grabbed his plug and his cage, then disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment of running water, he returned to lube up each. “Ben Dover, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter welcomed the chill slide of the plug into his overheated body. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Turn.”

“Yes, Daddy.” A kiss to the sensitized head of his cock left him a whimpering, writhing mess.

“You’re too hard.” Wade’s grin sent a shiver a dread down Peter’s back, but the bigger man only asked, “I have a circle with a diameter of six. What’s the circumference?”

“Pi or tau…? Let’s go with pi since I know it better. So half of six is three. Then multiply by pi, and we get… twelve, carry the one; four, nine, so nine point four two. Or should I take it out further?”

“Nah, we’re good.” Wade slipped the cage into place and snapped the lock closed.

Just the two of them, alone in Wade’s room, Peter allowed himself to whine at the loss of potential. Nonetheless he meant it when he said, “Thank you, Daddy.” Tonight, when he’d finally be allowed to come, his orgasm would be all the more intense.

While Peter dressed, Wade hooked the camera to his laptop to download the pictures before handing the camera to Peter. “On your next break, peek through these and see how good you look in glow-o-vision, baby boy. ’M adding these to my Peter’s Porno Pictures ™ file.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter grinned at him in absolute adoration. “May I take a couple of you now?”

“Sure, why not? I feel pretty.”

“You’re always pretty.” Peter managed a couple of decent shots in the mediocre lighting before giving in and turning on a pair of halogens. “Just to fill in the shadows a little.” He didn’t bother turning them from the empty bed, instead taking another three shots before Wade got bored and turned for the door.

“C’mon, baby boy. Times a burning.”

“Wade! The paint!”

“Fine, let’s get you cleaned up. But we gotta hurry. No good punishing you for not eating, then not letting you eat.”

Peter kissed his boyfriend and waved goodbye before opening the door to his lab.

Inside Stark sat at his desk, newspaper closed in front of him. “Ah, back from lunch.” He at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I, um, don’t suppose you saw this?” He nodded to the picture of Deadpool clinging to Spider-man’s back. “Those two have gotten real chummy as of late, and… To be blunt, I can’t let one of my interns get hurt by that maniac without at least having a real discussion.”

“Mr. Stark, I appreciate your concern, I do, but did you read the name of the photographer?” Thankfully he completed that entire spiel before the plug in his ass began a gentle thrum. With any luck, Wade wouldn’t adjust the setting.

He didn’t have to look. “Peter Parker. Same guy it always is. And please, call me Tony.”

At the older man’s lack of recognition, Peter bit his lip to keep from snickering. “Okay, Tony, so what’s my name?”

“Um, intern with terrible taste in men? At least that’s what I’ve been calling you for the last week.”

Peter huffed in irritation. “I’ve been taking pictures of Spider-man since I was a sophomore in high school, and you really didn’t notice?”

“Wait, we hired _that_ Peter Parker?” He glanced around the room as if the lab itself would confirm his identity.

The younger man nodded.

“So I’ve got Spidey’s personal photographer on staff, and no one bothered to tell me?”

“Seems like it.” Peter’s amusement seeped out around the edges. “You do know I put photography on my resumé?”

“Sorry for ignoring the hobbies, I was more interested in everyone’s career aspirations. Lab says you’re the kid with the nice balance of robotics and biology. To paraphrase, ‘I’d love any chance to work with Dr. Banner. I’ve memorized every article he’s ever written.’ That is you, right?”

“So you at least read part of it, just not my name and not my hobbies. Glad to know after all the work of wresting my entire life onto a single sheet of paper.” He forced his arms stay at his side, no matter how badly they wanted to cross over his chest. “And I don’t have bad taste in men, dammit.” _Even if he left my balls in agony with vibrations teasing me to the point of wanting to scream._

“Sure, whatever you say. Just… Be careful, kid. I’m not gonna say he’s a bad man, even if I think so, but he’s definitely a dangerous man. Just because you’re seeing each other doesn’t mean he’s living in reality. And he’s been known to do some downright underhanded shit when no one’s paying attention.”

“I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself.”

“Right up until Deadpool blows a hole in your thick skull when you least expect it. Honestly I felt relieved when he started hanging out with Spidey—his special sense for danger has at least kept him alive. I don’t know how you’re—”

Peter could see the exact moment when it all clicked together for the genius.

“Damn, you submitted some samples of synthetic spider silks along with your resumé, and I still missed it. Impressive stuff. I remember thinking at it had the kind of tensile strength that Spider-man required, but—”

“But nothing. You have no idea of who Spider-man might be, and we never had this conversation. Nothing changes. Just leave it alone.”

“You heard the man, FRIDAY. Erase this conversation from the record. And while you’re at it, erase anything from Wilson’s room today. I don’t want to stumble across that again.”

While Peter turned several lovely shades of vermillion, FRIDAY replied, “Audio and video from both locations have been deleted. I will resume routine monitoring of this room upon your exit.”

“Thanks.” He turned his attention to Peter. “Now then, ‘leave it alone’? Let me get this straight, I have Spider-man on staff, and you want me to forget that little fact?”

“Exactly. Your intern is Dr. Banner’s most adamant fan and nothing more.”

“So… if I were to, oh say, design an Iron Spider suit, I’d be wasting my time?”

“We-e-ell…” Peter managed not to shiver too obviously when the plug’s vibrations stopped. Though he’d heard the motor just fine, he could only cross his fingers that Stark did not. “As Spider-man’s photographer, I think I can safely say he’d be willing to discuss the matter.”

“Yeah. Hey, you alright? You seem kinda—”

“’S fine. Just a little shook up is all.” Peter waved off his concerns and hoped it would be enough.

Stark nodded and stood. “Then I’ll have FRIDAY make the arrangements with you later today.” He reached for the doorknob, and Peter relaxed, glad Wade hadn’t gotten him busted on both counts. “And it took a moment but I recognize that sound.” The man disappeared, out the door before Peter could collect his wits.

“I’m gonna die of mortification. Wade’s gonna embarrass me to death. This is how my life ends, I just know it.” Peter ran both hands up his face to smooth the hair from his forehead. “It’s been a good run. I’ve done things other people only dream of doing. I can die happy.”

Despite his certainty that fatal humiliation would take his life by the end of the day, Peter arrive home in high spirits, eager for the next gauntlet Wade would lay out for him to run. Just inside the door, he stopped to stare. The couch sat against the far wall with the television and coffee table on the cushions. A mushy sheet of white foam dominated the empty space, pulled taut and actually stapled to the flooring.

“Daddy?” With no sign of the older man, he called out, “Wade?” as he headed to search for his boyfriend.

“Just a sec, my Hufflepuff of easily worrisomeness.” His voice came from the bedroom. “Come in here before we get to your afterwork spanking. I want to see something.”

That wasn’t concerning at all.

In the bedroom Peter found Wade dressed in black yoga pants and a crop top, a coordinating electric blue outfit on the bed. “Yes, Daddy?”

Wade tossed him the second set of workout clothes. “I want to see your twink ass in those tight pants, baby boy.”

Once Peter had put away his dirty clothes and changed into the new outfit, he crossed his legs and spun gracefully. Arms curving overhead, he bent at the waist until his chest paralleled the floor. “Like this, Daddy?”

“Like it? I fuckin’ love it.”

The plug thumped weakly inside Peter but still caused him to moan with the need he’d accumulated during the day. “Thank you, Daddy. So happy you’re pleased.” He could bitch about Wade outing him to Stark later. Or never. Yeah, right about now, never sounded viable.

Wade drew close enough to rest his forehead against his lover’s. “And I’m so pleased you’re happy.” Starting at the smaller man’s nipples his hands roamed Peter’s body before coming to a stop while gripping both ass cheeks. “Ready to go over my knee, baby boy?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.” He almost lost himself to snickers at the ridiculousness of life before continuing, “Would you put me, er, your boy over your lap and give him a long, hard reminder of why he’s supposed to take care of himself when you’re not here? Please? Because after a third of bootcamp, I’m, er, he’s doing so much better at giving you his absolute truth.” When Wade still hesitated, an overly satisfied smirk firmly ensconced, Peter turned to press his ass into Wade’s ubiquitous erection. “Please, Daddy, put me across those thick thighs and wail on my ass until you know I could never forget how… how…” A frustrated groan escaped him as he floundered for the next words in his lust-steeped mind.

“How much I adore and respect a man who can take my punishment and keep coming back for more?”

Grinding into Wade’s crotch, he shook his head, “No, Daddy. But that too.” Need overwhelming his mind, he struggled to think straight, so he babbled in hopes he could convey the idea. “I can’t forget how much you hurt me and how much you love it when you do. I adore the way you etch your affection into my flesh, all the way to the bone. But it’s your hands on me, so possessive, like… like… for once I belong.”

“Well, fuck me with a porcupine, you do enjoy being mine.” Wade chuckled while fondling Peter’s cage.

“Yes, Daddy. So much enjoy.” That admission cost the younger man a flaming blush that ran down his chest. “So much love.” He sighed as his body raged for the pain that would come, even though his mind protested this as madness. “I hate being hurt, but I love the way you do it. Then the way you stare at me. Awed. Baffled. So turned on you could lift a train with your cock. I love that plain ol’ Peter Parker makes you feel that way.”

“Mmm, always a power trip, my sweetie Petey-pie?”

“Yes, Daddy.” When Wade dug his finger into the meat at Peter’s hips, he moaned. “Always a power trip.”

“What are you gonna do when I—yes, fine, _we_, fuckin’ we strip away all that power and leave you weak and needy, baby boy?” Wade patted his lap.

Pants dropped to his knees, Peter draped his body into place. “Suffer sweetly, Daddy.” His sore rim tightened around the plug still warbling inside him. “Enjoy being your favorite sex toy. Even when it hurts so much I want to scream.” As his cock pulled away from his body enough to make him whimper, he rutted against his lover. “Take everything you give me and ask, please, Daddy, may your boy have more.”

“Oh, you are in so much trouble, young man.” Wade rested on hand lightly on the curve of Peter’s ass. “And lookie here, a perfect little bubble butt, ready for me to ruin.”

“Then ruin it, Daddy. Destroy it. Destroy me.” Peter gulped, certain he’d asked for more than he could possibly take. He knew he should admit his mistake, but stubborn to the end, he didn’t back down from the dark and sadistic promise in his lover’s harsh laugh.

“Oh, I’ll ruin you alright.” Wade stroked along Peter’s taint from the plug that stoked his lust to the cage that prevented his arousal. “Love how you’re so ripe for the pickin’ when I’m done.”

The first swat landed, and Peter jumped more from surprise than pain.

“Love how you’re so needy for my cock.” He smacked the other cheek. “Love how you beg me to let you come.” A steady barrage now, he worked Peter over with slowly growing fervor. “Love making you wait for that little death. Love killing you, then watching life stir inside you again.” His next words came as a hushed confession: “Makes me feel less alone.”

As his hits grew to a pitched fury, Wade fell silent, leaving only the constant, intimate smack of skin on skin. The tide of pain rose faster and higher than it ever had before. This time the agony alone brought Peter to tears. Desperation laced his sobs as his jerked from each strike. Every time Peter almost got a handle on what was happening to his body, Wade changed the speed and strength, leaving Peter’s mind reeling as he fought to regain control.

A slow fury ignited in his chest. Angry words fell from his lips, though not focused on Wade or even his punishment, just a steady babble of rage.

Over the roar in Peter’s head, he couldn’t make out his lover’s rumbling words until Wade’s hand rested on the small of his back, allowing the universe to still. “Dammit, Peter, what color? Talk to me.”

“Color?” The younger man blinked. As he panted, his confusion tempered his anger more quickly than the air cooled his flesh. “I don’t know what…”

“It’s just… Never mind. If green’s good to go and red’s stop right this second, where are you on that spectrum?”

“Oh. Those colors.” Peter’s brain kicked into gear, aligning his research with his reality. “Yellow? Maybe orange? Right between like: holy shit, let up. Is orangey-yellow an option?”

“Good boy.” Wade’s heavy palm landed on one blazing globe of anguish. “You ready to go back under?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Before his love could take that admission and run with it, Peter added, “I’m hating every second of this, but please don’t stop.” He’d never felt so in tune with the other man’s utter madness as he repeated, “Please, Daddy, may I have more?”

“Your wish, my cupcake of total abandon.” Wade plunged him head long back into the space outside the world.

Suspicious that the older man’s smacks landed only hard enough to keep the fires stoked, Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d left the bad place of incomprehensible rage behind, floating in a haze over the pain now that his endorphins had caught up. One thought cut sharp through the mist: this sensation was addictive. Then, like everything else beyond the pleasant swirl in his mind, it was gone.

Maybe an hour later or even a week, the force tapered down. Peter remained an ooey, motionless blob as Wade massaged away the sting. Nothing left but a pleasant buzz, Peter sighed his deep contentment.

So of course Wade announced, “Time to get our goddess on, baby boy.” He helped Peter to his feet, then gleefully snapped his pants into place.

“So yoga… We’re really doing yoga.” Peter’s head swam from the sudden change in orientation. “Did you have to staple the foam to the floor?”

“Hey, it kept sliding. So, yes, snarky britches, I did hafta staple it down to keep from breaking _your_ neck.”

Peter put a hand to either side of his lover’s face. “Hurt yourself, did ya?”

“Eh, what’s a snapped neck in the name of love?” Wade gave a sheepish grin. “’Sides, ‘Everybody hurts, sometimes…’ Hmph, you’re irrelevant. REM is still a relevant band.”

“He’s right, Yellow. Everybody does hurt. Sometimes.”

“Yellow wants to know who’s right, me or Stipes?”

“Well, maybe that’s for me to know and nosy little boxes to find out later,” Peter teased.

“No, no, shh, no—”

“Dammit, Yellow, I meant both; now stop it!”

Wade’s posture visibly softened. “Full Force Yellow Tantrum™ averted; thanks, baby boy.”

“He’s gonna hafta learn to take being teased.”

“Hmph, I doubt it.” A small bemused smile broke over Wade’s expression. “But if he’ll do it for anyone, he’ll do it for you.” The bigger man snagged Peter’s hand. “Now, to the mat!” As he led the smaller man through the apartment, he asked, “So whacha think of the pics?”

“Crap, Wade, I forgot to look. Stark was in my lab when I got back. Wanted to warn me that you’d, and I quote, put a bullet through my thick skull when I was least expecting it.”

“Shit. Asshole.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. So now he knows who I am, but he’s being cool, agreed to essentially forget about it. Set up a meeting between Spidey and Iron Man through intern Peter Parker, Spidey’s photographer.”

“That’s mighty big of the little man.” Wade’s smirk lacked malice, but it didn’t contradict Peter’s impression of bad blood between the men.

“Yeah. Too good to last, but at least he’s trying.” He rewound the conversation in search of their topic. “Oh, right, the photos. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Eh, don’t worry that overtaxed spider brain about it. I’ve gotcha covered.” Wade turned off the lights, walked around the mat, closed the blinds, and picked up his phone from the arm of the couch.

Once he hit a few buttons, electric pastel streaks bloomed on the wall. Peter’s form black, he could still make out the sensuality of the pics as the streaks struggled against their bonds. Three slashes of blue showed his lips and eyes, while brilliant pink arrows marked his erection. The slideshow advanced, and Peter gaped at how Wade had fused a handful of random ideas into something so stunning.

“That’s amazing.” He barely dared to blink.

“You were amazing.” Wade stepped into the projection. “Look right here, see how the corners of your eyes are all wrinkled up from effort. And I swear your cock’s bigger than it was when we started.” Wade stepped back to hug Peter from behind.

As the pictures recycled, Peter realized not only did his erection swell as the photos progressed, but the glowing pearls of precome from its head grew to a drizzle. “Damn, no wonder I’m horny as a cat in heat.”

The Ting Ting’s “Estranged” burst over the house speakers. With the room still lit only by Peter’s glowing, straining body and the ropes that held him, the slow, thumping music created a charged atmosphere.

“I want you to tighten your core in rhythm with the music. Make sure to squeeze on that plug nice n’ hard. Good, now get into a plank, baby boy.” Once Peter did as he was told, Wade climbed onto his back. Hands on Peter’s ankles and toes on his shoulders, Wade adopted the same pose atop the younger man. “Perfect form. Breathe from your diaphragm. Slow and steady. Good boy.”

After calisthenics with Wade’s weight, yoga seemed easier. For all of a few minutes. As they worked through several gravity-defying poses, Peter’s muscles expressed a far different fatigue, as if that gravity had been dialed up to eleven.

“Control your breathing, baby boy,” Wade chided as he put a foot on the younger man’s bent knee. Both their hands linked, he stepped up and arched his back. “I can feel the rainbows shooting out my vagina!” He cackled softly, holding the pose for an exacting minute—White obviously keeping time for them—then instructing Peter to move into the next position. “Don’t stop squeezing the plug with the music.”

“Fuck, Daddy, please! I’m so hard, the cage is gonna rip free.”

“Okay, okay, I got ya.” Wade climbed off Peter and tugged down his pants. “Lemme get both while I’m here.”

Peter hissed as the plug slid from his body. “Oh, that’s so much better already.” When the cage came off he sighed. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Be right back.”

Alone for the moment Peter sank to the mat. To keep from succumbing to the urge to jerk himself to completion, he tucked his hands under his head. Boneless as Bebe Rexha’s “I’m Not Twenty Anymore” played, his life felt perfect.

“Mmm, yeah, sexy enough to make our organs burst, but what a way to go… Supine.”

Peter’s brain caught up to the command, and he pulled his knees up before letting his legs fall open, then tucked his hands to the small of his back. “Yes, Daddy.”

“’M gonna get fat if I let you distract me from too many workouts, but damn, baby boy, that’s about the most distracting thing I’ve ever seen.” Wade padded closer and knelt at his side. “Gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He reached out to gently roll the younger man’s balls. “How you feeling in there?”

“They hurt. Wanna come so bad, Daddy.” Peter blinked back tears of frustration. “Please, Daddy, let me come now. I’ve been so damned hard all damned day. Please. I’ve suffered sweetly. Really, Daddy, I have.”

“I know, my sweet boy; I know.”

“I can’t be sweet much longer.” On the verge of sobbing, the first tear broke free. “Please, Daddy, may your boy come now?”

The snap of a bottle cap had never been more welcome. “Okay, baby boy, you have. You’ve been so, so sweet. And it’s time for your reward.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter’s eyes drifted closed as a slick hand ran up his shaft. “Oh, yes, feels so good. Thank you, Daddy.”

“Mmm, that’s right; relax and let Daddy take care of you.”

Heart jackrabbiting in his throat, Peter gasped and bucked. He couldn’t possibly relax, but he could definitely let Wade jerk him off. “Please, Daddy, faster.”

“Shh, you get what Daddy gives.” Wade slowed to an infuriating pace.

“Yes, Daddy.” Only with great effort could Peter quiet his pleas, and his resolve didn’t hold up long. “Please, Daddy, I’m grateful for whatever you give me, but please, fuck, please give me faster now. Daddy, please!” Resigned to his fate when Wade didn’t respond, he added, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“That’s right, my good sweet boy; just trust me, and I’ll make it all better. There you go. Just breathe. All you gotta do is exist. That’s all, just breathe.” He pressed a finger to younger man’s taint, massaging his prostate. “Just like that, baby boy. Keep breathing.”

Peter arched from the mat as electric pleasure sizzled out from his groin. The grip on his cock fell away as his come splashed across his stomach. His prostate, however, continued to send out rapid orgasmic pulses, his legs trembling in their aftermath.

Peter’s straining muscles relented enough for his back to hit the mat. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, my little love dumplin’.” Only once Wade was certain he’d milked every ounce of pleasure from Peter’s body did he let off from stimulating the younger man’s prostate. He curled up around Peter and pulled him tight to his chest. Both Peter’s wrists gripped in one hand, he asked, “Like this? Is this how you like my hands?”

“Almost Da—”

Wade squeezed.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.” The sensation of belonging flooded Peter’s body. “I’m yours. Entirely and completely.” The word _owner_ popped into his mind again. Though he’d never rejected the idea, it felt dangerous, like a barbed thing waiting to ensnare him. “If you get a collar, does that mean I do too?”

“If you want one.” Wade’s breath tickled along Peter’s neck as the bigger man chuckled. “I’d collar you in a heartbeat, my good sweet boy.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Getting ready for our collars?”

“Smarty pants. Always too smart for your own good.” Wade chuckled. “Yes, my arachno-genius, that’s why I want us to finish bootcamp, so we’ll feel ready to make a commitment.”

“So is that just collars or are we talking rings too?”

Wade stopped to focus solely on Peter. “You want a ring, baby boy?”

“Eventually.” Peter let the idea soak for a moment. “Can we talk about this more later? It’s a big step.”

“Whatever you want, baby boy.”

A scrumptious smell lured Peter from the brink of napping. “Um, Wade, are you cooking?”

The bigger man scrambled to his feet. “Oh, shit!” As he dashed for the kitchen he called out, “Get your ass in here; this is gonna be great!”

“Oh, what is it?” Peter asked as he shoved to his feet.

“Miss May’s Creamy Chicken and Mushroom Soup. ’Course mine’ll never be quite as good, but it’s a damned close reproduction.”

Peter grabbed a rag from the kitchen pantry and washed his stomach before taking a seat. “So this is our life?”

“For now, baby boy.”

“I could get used to this.”


	11. Day 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change up in plans and a slip up at bedtime.

Before seeing Peter out the door, Wade held his hand level, palm down, and lowered it slowly. Peter hadn’t seen that gesture in a while, but he remembered it well. He dropped to his knees.

“Why are we doing this?” The big man asked, his stern voice back.

In full confidence, Peter’s gaze never wavered from his lover’s. “So we’re ready for our collars… maybe more.”

“Maybe more,” Wade echoed, his tone not gentled. “Assume the position.”

Peter’s long-gone anxious butterflies reappeared. “Yes, Daddy.” He dropped trou and bent over to grip the seat of his chair.

Wade’s hard hands roamed his abused flesh. “A perfect ruin.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter’s voice wavered as his anxiety spiked.

“Kiss your girl, Petey-pie.”

Without conscious will, he did as he was told. “Daddy, I’m scared.” Already heavily marked, even with his healing factor and more sleep than usual, he expected a full meltdown once Wade got started.

“Good boy. Always tell me how you feel. Daddy always wants to know everything about you, baby boy.” He ran a palm down Peter’s back. “Trust me?”

“Yes, Daddy.” When Peter surrendered to the moment, the butterflies settled. “Completely.”

“I believe you, baby boy.” Wade gave him a light tap with his fingertips. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Peter gasped in surprise when a hand wrapped around his jaw and directed him to stand. Pliant in his lover’s grasp, that grip directed him to lie across the table, his feet hanging off the edge. His shirt absorbed the faint moisture from where Wade had brushed away breakfast crumbs with a damp rag. Too intrigued to complain, Peter allowed it to happen without comment.

Light, precise, bare-handed taps led Peter into a quiet space in his mind. “Thank you, Daddy.” With the anxiety bled from him, his muscles loosened.

“Yeah, like Silly Putty in our hands.” Wade switched to the paddle but maintained his focused and gentle approach a bit longer. “Now are you ready for the real thing?”

The younger man melted with a contented sigh. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. Such a very good boy for me.” Wade didn’t hold back on the force, but he kept the pace manageable. “What color?”

“Green, Daddy.”

“And we’re gonna stay green this morning. You tell Daddy if you turn yellow.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter hadn’t expected the ex-merc to take his concern this seriously. “You don’t hafta though.”

“I know what I do and don’t hafta do, baby boy. I _want_ you to stay green.”

“Yes, Daddy.” A childishly oversimplistic gratitude bubbled up in Peter’s chest. “Thank you, Daddy.” As the paddle landed again, Peter whispered, “Decades.”

“Hmm?” The smacks didn’t slow, but Wade seemed willing to chat regardless of how cold he’d been since he’d awakened Peter.

“You said decades. You wanted me happy and healthy for as many decades as… something.”

Wade gave an amused chuff, the first sign of himself all morning. “Yeah, baby boy, sounds like my rambling.” His improved spirits didn’t hold.

“Are you mad at me, Daddy?”

“No, baby boy, sorry. Something went wrong, and I need to figure out how to fix it.”

“Oh.” Out of respect for Peter, Wade seldom mentioned his work, even the SHIELD-sanctioned jobs. “Does that mean bootcamp gets cut short?”

“Oh, hell no, my sweet wonderment of spidery curiosities. But I might hafta postpone it for a couple days.”

A heavier strike brought an appreciative hum from Peter. “That kinda sucks.”

“You could come with?”

Peter sputtered for a few seconds. “But, Daddy, I have to work.”

“No problem. I’ll set the job up for this weekend.”

“What about Aunt May?” Just a calm discussion while Wade smacked his ass on the kitchen table, nothing amiss here.

“Hmm, we could see her tonight.”

“Ugh, I hate that transporter thing. I’m always afraid I’ll wind up halfway through a wall or something.”

“Up to you, sweetie Petey. Let me know once you decide.”

The pace picked up, then Wade added more power, bringing Peter to the line between green and yellow. Each strike jarred him; he yelped and fought to keep his physical reactions under control.

“Mmm, nice and hot.” He paused to massage the injured flesh.

“Shit, the time!” Peter didn’t know how long he’d been on the table, only that it was too long.

Wade helped him to his feet. “Sorry, Petey-pie, distracted.”

“’S alright.” He checked his phone. “I’ve still got enough time, but I gots to go.”

While Peter wrestled his pants into place, Wade gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Have a good day, baby boy.”

“Let’s do it. Let’s hit Boston tonight.” Peter reached for the door, Wade’s chuckle stroking him in all the right places.

“Alright then, tonight we see May. Tomorrow night, we embark on a little bounty hunting.”

“No killing?”

“Definitely want this guy alive, baby boy. Thinkin’ your webs’ll help with that.”

Peter darted out the door before he yelled back, “It’s a date!” An amused snicker followed him as Wade pulled the door closed.

Peter hurried through the crowded streets toward home. He’d never admit to how badly he’d missed Wade during lunch. While he talked shop with the other interns, many watched him more closely after Wade’s antics yesterday. Maybe they didn’t link Peter’s boyfriend with Deadpool, but they all realized no scientist-in-training pitted his fries in a battle to the death before dunking the losers in ketchup blood.

The instant Peter cracked open the door, Wade leapt. “You’re home!” His legs wrapped around the smaller man’s waist. “I’ve been waiting forever! Do you know how long you’ve been gone? Cuz it’s a long damned time, Petey-pie!”

“You were home all day?” Peter’s brow crinkled with worry as he glanced around. Nothing on fire and no readily visible bullet holes, though the coffee table was buried in paper. “You never stay home all day.”

“Therapist cancelled Thart Therapy Thursday, but I decided to spend the day drawing anyway.”

Peter snickered against Wade’s shoulder. “So let’s see the masterpieces.”

Instead of leading him to the flurry of paper in the living room, Wade grabbed his hand and dragged him to the fridge. “This is the good one!” A magnet at each corner held a crayon sketch of a chibi Deadpool reaching for a round-headed Spider-man’s butt. “See, I even have your spidey sense trying to warn you, but we both know it’s too late for that, cus I’m all up in dat ass.”

“Between you and Yellow, I’m surprised you don’t have me broke down over the arm of the couch already.”

“Now that you mention it…” Wade hustled Peter back through the apartment even as he fumbled the younger man’s fly open. “We’re on a tight schedule if we’re still on with Miss May for dinner. And I presume you’d prefer to be hardware free for this trip?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“So we’re gonna hafta get you off so you’re not a tent pole all evening.”

Peter snickered. “Thank you, Daddy.”

The older man stripped off his sweats and leaned over the arm of the couch. “Fuck me like one of your French whores, baby boy.”

“You forgot a little something.”

“Crap, the cage.” Wade spun around, pulled the necklace from his shirt, opened the lock, and worked the silicone free. He snatched up his pants, fumbled the remote from his pocket, and set Peter’s world to vibrating. “Now then, we good to go?”

“Good to go, Daddy.”

Once Wade settled, Peter ran a hand up his spine to pinch the skin at the back of the older man’s neck. With a needy hiss, Wade’s back swayed before shoving his ass up in offering.

Peter noted the upswing in his topping, their encounters aligning more with their usual chemistry. “Missing Dom Peter, Daddy?”

“Oh…” Wade made a disgruntled huff. “I don’t mind driving the bus—shut up, Yellow; I’m telling him—oh, the bus, right. We like the way you take charge, toss us around like a ragdoll. Fuck us like you’re saving the world.”

“Does feel heroic sometimes.” Peter almost censored the rest of the thought. _Absolute truth._ “Feels like you’d murder everyone in the universe if I neglected you.”

“Can’t promise I wouldn’t, baby boy.” His shoulders bunched as his chest sank lower.

“May your boy offer you what you need, Daddy?”

Wade turned and dropped hard to his knees. “Fuck, yes, baby boy. I’ve missed you.”

Peter grabbed his lover by the throat, forced him up. “Glad to oblige. Daddy.” He growled the words with a razor-edged grin. “Gonna rip you to pieces. Then set them on fire.”

Wade quivered in his grip. “Do it.”

Once Peter led them to the side of the bed, his free hand snaked up his boyfriend’s back. With no hair to grip, he reached up and over Wade’s shoulder to snag his chin. Firm but slow, he twisted until the big man grunted. “Aw, is the big bad wolf scared?”

“Not yet.” That cocky grin couldn’t be allowed to last.

“Should be.” Peter snagged Wade’s ankle with his foot and pulled, riding the big man to the mattress. “I’ve had too much time to think.”

Eyes wide with awe, Wade went limp in his grip. “Anything, baby boy.”

As Peter sorted through the disjointed ideas in his mind, he leaned down to sweep his tongue through his lover’s gasping mouth. He rolled to his back and pulled the bigger man atop him, chest to back, legs securing his waist, elbow around his throat in a loose San Francisco choke hold. “So many options.” Right into Wade’s ear he threatened, “I could choke you with your own arms until you tapped out.” Only the tiniest whimper. So Peter pulled himself around to put his lover in a baby’s cradle: one arm pulling Wade’s legs to the older man’s shoulders, the other forcing his back to bend into the pretzel. “We could see how you like being babied.” That wasn’t much of a moan either. “Or maybe you want something more degrading. Maybe you wanna choke on my cock, let all that power bruise your delicate throat. Know what a scorpion is, big guy?”

That was the whine.

Peter released his prey. “Then get moving. It ain’t gonna suck itself.”

Forever eager to please, Wade lay his head at the edge of the bed, arms flat to the mattress with his hands just behind his ankles. He pushed up into a bridge, his upper body resting on his head.

“Open wide.”

Wade swallowed him balls deep in one go.

“Just gonna let me think you’d made me a puzzle when you hadn’t? Rude. And out me to Stark? Double rude.”

At this Wade grunted in protest.

“Just as well as.” Peter gave a short thrust. “Not to mention your book club.”

Wade quieted, back to sucking cock like his life depended on it.

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter put all his built-up frustration into giving Wade a hard throat fuck while the bigger man showed off his impressive physique in the most tantalizing way. His broad, arched chest tapered down to strong hips, every bone and muscle in stark relief from the strain. Scars more active than yesterday, they pulled taut over his thick thighs and washboard abs in the long straight lines of flay marks. His biceps bulged from the angle, struggling to take any weight off his neck.

With a happy little hum, Peter cupped his hand behind Wade’s neck, allowing his thumb to stroke over the defenseless column of his lover’s throat. “Enthusiastic. I like it.”

Even that faint praise drove Wade to redouble his efforts.

“So good for me,” he whispered. “Always so fuckin’ good. Let me sixty-nine you.”

Wade dropped to the mattress, surrendering Peter’s cock until the younger man got into place. “How did I ever get this lucky?”

“Right place, right time?” Peter suggested before licking the head of Wade’s cock.

He wasn’t kidding. After that face full of sex pollen, Wade sought Spidey and found Peter on a rooftop, sans mask and pants, so horny he could hardly contain himself, even after masturbating twice. Standing at the furthest edge of the roof, not even willing to look at him, Wade said without a hint of flirt, “I can help you with that. If you want. No homo, no expectations, just friends. Won’t tell a soul. Don’t even gotta look at this fucked-up mess.”

Frantic for anything to relieve the intense need, Peter gulped. “I can’t… I mean… It’s just… Fuck it: yes, okay? As much as I resent that fact, yes, I need some help here.” When Wade fumbled closer, Peter grumbled, “Dammit, Wade, you can open your eyes.”

At first sight the older man leered. “Mmm, pretty—hey, you’re the innocent hacky sack with that Ken doll, the reporter.” He blinked owlishly for a moment. “Oh, shit—”

“Yeah, we can discuss nearly killing me some other time.”

“No wonder you were pissed off.”

“Focus, Wade.” Peter jabbed both hands at his crotch to emphasize his point. “This thing is on overdrive. Get me to where I can swing home, and we’ll call it even.”

Wade had thrown himself into pleasuring Peter with complete abandon, a complication the younger man never anticipated. Hell, he’d never even experienced that intense focus all directed at him. Betty, Gwen, Felicia, even Mary Jane, none had left him so completely smitten after a single night.

He tried to shake the idea of Wade, repeatedly failing to talk himself out of wanting the big scarred man: _‘M not even gay… Just the sex pollen… He’s a killer… No, he’s a five-year-old in a grown man’s body who kills people for a living. Worse than that, he kills people for fun. Hell, he’d’ve killed me._

_So why can’t I get him outta my head?_

His mind always circled back to the same rebuttal: _Because he’s the best lover you’ve ever had._

When Peter finally caved, he expected that night with the merc to pale in comparison to the pollen-driven insanity, freeing him from the man’s draw. Peter should have known the madness was all Wade. The scarred man’s overwhelming desire to please, backed by solid instincts, exceptional powers of observation, and plentiful experience, obliterated that hope. Peter left more obsessed the second time. And the third. And the fourth…

By then he’d accepted, “Okay, maybe I’m bi.”

Wade pushed Peter’s hips up enough to say, “Glad to hear it, baby boy.”

“Sorry. Thinking about our first time.”

That always brought Wade a jolt of vulnerability. “Figured you’d never wanna see us again.”

“You’re irresist—”

Reassured the ex-merc chuckled darkly around his cock. Peter knew the cadence the older man chanted in his mind: “One little taste was all it took to get our Spidey on the hook.” He made up other verses on the fly, but that one always served as the refrain.

“You’re also insufferable.” Peter pulled into a sitting position, making his love whine in disappointment. “What? You thought this was gonna be easy, big guy?”

Wade smirked. “No, I thought this was gonna be quick.”

Between one heartbeat and the next Peter grabbed both calves and pushed those sinful legs up to settle on his shoulders. He leaned down, forcing Wade to fold in half. In the older man’s ear, he asked, “Quick?” He pressed against Wade’s entrance. “You say you want it quick and hard and deep?”

“Fuck, yes, baby boy. All that—”

Gripping Wade’s triceps for leverage, Peter breached the bigger man’s rim, forcing him down, into the mattress. As he pressed deeper he watched Wade’s expression, slowing when the stress lines turned from uncomfortable to pained.

Between pants Wade groaned and whimpered, then snickered. “Yeah, Little Red Riding Petey.”

“You three are gonna think _little_.” Peter turned his hyperfocus onto every nuance of his owner—

There was that idea again: _owner_. This wasn’t the time to consider it, but he needed to make time soon.

—Peter let the concern go, returning his mind to nothing but creating the right mix of pleasure and pain to sate his owner’s needs. Like a finely tuned instrument, Wade’s body trembled perfectly with each strum and pluck of the raucous tune Peter played. He repeated pulled the big man back from climax until the barest touch to his cock would be too much.

Leaving Wade to teeter at the brink, Peter turned to his own release. After the satisfaction of Wade’s reactions to him, as well as the combination of chastity and stimulation that he accepted during bootcamp, he came deep inside his lover before adding a few strokes to bring the bigger man to climax. Too spent for more, they lay side by side, catching their breath as the coda to their symphony.

Once he had the air, Wade crooned, “He’s the sweetest thing that I know, should see the way he holds me when the lights go low, shakes my soul like a pothole. Every time.”

“Who’s that?”

“Ed Sheeran.”

“’S nice.”

Wade shook from head to toe, then rose to his feet. “Time to get moving, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter stood as well. “Will you spank your boy to remind him to be good for you?”

“Can you take a double at bedtime?”

Peter grinned widely, his owner’s insanity spreading through him like an epidemic. “Love to,” he cooed.

“Then get showered and dressed. Don’t wanna keep Miss May waiting.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“There’s my boys!” Aunt May hugged Peter tight and kissed his cheek before turning to repeat the same for Wade. “Get yourselves in here! It’s been too long.”

“There’s my golden oldie. How was Curaçao?” Wade asked, with the curl of the Dutch Antilles.

“Oh, you’ve been? Then you know it was nothing but gorgeous water, beaming sun, and tropical breezes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Wade blushed under his scars at the admission that he’d been working, thus hadn’t seen the island like a tourist.

May shook her head, placing a hand to his ruined cheek. “Oh, poor boy, I’m sorry you missed it.”

“’S alright, Miss Maybelle. Maybe Petey and I’ll go sometime on vacation.”

“There were a lot of honeymooners…” She flashed a mischievous grin. “But I’m certain you two haven’t even discussed such an idea yet?”

To keep May’s teasing from getting out of hand, Peter answered, “We’ve mentioned it but not discussed it.”

“About time.” May waved them into a large dining room, with three places set. “Jay won’t be in until later. Too bad, really, as he’s fond of you both.”

They settled into comfortable chat until a timer summoned May to the kitchen.

Wade leaned close, as nothing would keep the man from tauntng Peter mercilessly until she returned. “Think she’d notice if I shoved you under the table to serve as my cockwarmer?”

“No. Because it’s not happening.” Peter slapped his shoulder, the barely audible smack not nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped. “Stop it. Daddy.” He laced the words with threat.

Which Wade ignored entirely. “Oh, would she notice if I slipped under the table to serve as your cockwarmer?”

Cheeks blazing, Peter knew he looked guilty as sin. “Stop it. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Wade asked in genuine curiosity.

“Else you’ll never see Dom Peter again.”

“No Dom Pedro?” Wade gasped as if the mere idea made his world screech to a stop. “You wouldn’t.”

“But I could.” Peter smirked.

“Nah, now you’re just making stuff up.” Wade’s fingers walked up Peter’s arm. “You couldn’t stop yourself from hurting me if you tried.”

“Only because you’re impossible.”

“Peter, you should call your aunt more often,” May scolded from the kitchen. “I swear I talk to Wade ten times as often as my own boy.”

“Yes, Aunt May. I’ll be sure to call twice this week.”

“That’s better. You boys ready for my Blue Ribbon Chicken and Wild Rice Casserole?” She stepped through the swinging door with three plates in her arms. “Careful, it’s hot,” she warned as she placed the first in front of Wade.

“Yes, Miss May.”

“And quit teasing Peter every time I turn my back; poor dear’s gonna have a heart attack.”

“Yes, Miss May.”

“And you,” she added as she put down Peter’s plate. “wipe that smirk off your face and eat like a civilized adult.”

Peter broke into a wide, fond grin. “Yes, Aunt May.”

“There. Now, tell me everything,” she said as she took her seat.

That was Wade’s cue. For the next ten minutes he broke every rule of etiquette as he spilled every event in his and Peter’s life since he’d called for her chicken and mushroom soup recipe. “And last night I found out that Bluejay? You know the one?”

“Yes, Wade, I remember.”

“He’s running lose again. And I’ve got to catch him again. Screw it all, I asked Peter to help me out on that one.”

“Slippery guy but I’m sure you two can handle it.”

“Yes’m. Kinda looking forward to showing Peter some of the work I’m taking on just to keep him happy.”

“Well, you’ve been such a blessing to him, I’m certain he’s—”

“He’s right here,” Peter objected. “You can quit talking about me, ya know.”

“Aw but, Petey, you always take everything so serious. And you’d never tell her I’m taking you to Monaco tomorrow night.”

“Because you haven’t told me we’re going to Monaco. Hell, you haven’t even told me about this Bluejay.”

Wade chuckled. “Information is on a need to know basis.”

“And my aunt needs to know more than I do?”

“Well, duh, of course she does. She worries when you keep her in the dark.”

Defeated Peter rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. “You both know I kept her in the dark to keep her from worrying.”

“Didn’t help, Peter.” Aunt May supplied. “I’m grateful you tried, but the way you pulled away after Ben’s death worried me to no end.”

“Yes, Aunt May. Sorry for that.”

“It’s okay, Peter. Besides I enjoy Wade’s gossip; I suspect I know more about your life than you do.”

Fire burst across Peter’s cheeks.

Wade chuckled. “Aw, he’s so cute when he’s mortified.”

Without hesitation May joined. “He is. Oh, and I have another fun idea, but, um, better call me tomorrow; I don’t think he can handle this discussion.”

“Not even remotely,” Peter ground out through clenched teeth.

“There, there, my little amazeball of carnal delights. Your aunt is a wise woman of the world. No need to be all embarrassed. She knows little spiders have needs—”

“For all that’s good and kind in the world, please stop talking now, Wade.”

“Yes, dear.” The bigger man still cackled at his discomfort, causing his aunt to snicker as well.

“So,” Peter said, standing, “if we’re all done eating, I’ll just go wash up so you two can dish without interruption.”

Wade continued laughing as he handed Peter his plate.

As he cleared the swinging doors, Aunt May asked, “How’d he handle dusting light bulbs?”

“Exactly as predicted, you gorgeous doll.”

“I knew it! Not your idea!” Peter called as he started the water to drown out their talk.

Back at home Peter sped for the bathroom to wretch his guts out, glad he wasn’t in a Boston alley this time. Once his stomach emptied, he grumbled, “I hate that thing. Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby boy, so you’ve said.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” Peter rinsed his mouth before turning to his beloved. “May your boy have a few minutes to pull himself back together?”

“Take all the time you need.” Wade studied him with concerned eyes. “You sure you’re up to this?”

“Yes, Daddy. Just need to let my stomach settle.”

The bigger man sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. “C’mere and let me pet you, my poor puny arachnid.”

“’M not puny.” Peter settled on his lap anyway.

“No, of course not, sweetheart. Just a bit pukey.” Wade set to literally petting down his back, pressing the smaller man’s chest to his own. “But, hey, Miss May was glad to see you.”

“Hmph, gladder to gossip with you.”

He laughed at that, a full, jolly sound that eased Peter’s nerves. “You know you adore how well we get along.”

“Right up until it bites me in the ass.”

“Hey, not my fault you never thought to take care of her light bulbs just because you could.”

“I’m still not certain that’s a real thing.”

Wade scoffed. “Of course it is. Since we’ve been together, have I misled you on a single thing?”

“Dozens.”

“Hah, name one!” Wade’s eyes twinkled with amusement even as he gaped at the smaller man.

“I can’t think of one right this instant, but I know they exist.”

“Sure.” The big man continued petting. “Of course they do, my sweet potato dumpling of spidery goodness.”

Peter almost asked White to give him a hand but decided that would amount to the box thinking it had free rein to break Wade down. “You’re always stirring things to confound my mind.”

“Okay, maybe you got me there. But what about Maybelle? Surely she’s never steered you wrong.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Not certain I like I how chummy you two have gotten.”

“You adore it,” Wade assured him again.

“Yeah, I do.” Stomach settled, Peter sighed as he slipped to his knees. “Daddy, will you remind your boy to be respectful and honest and careful and whatever else he’s supposed to remember?”

“Wanna try that again, baby boy?”

“Hmph, no, but I guess I will.” Peter racked his mind. “Dangerous, dishonest, disrespectful… Why can I never remember but three of these?”

“Sentences.” Wade cackled gleefully. “Because I haven’t set you to writing sentences yet!”

Peter groaned into his hand but managed to pull a sweet smile from somewhere near his liver. “Yes, Daddy, that would help.”

“Disobedient, baby boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter tried again: “Will you remind your boy to be obedient, respectful, honest, and careful? Twice?”

“You’ll hafta ask for the second round once I bring you outta the corner, but for now, over the lap, my spidery darling.”

“You really expect me to be obedient after bootcamp?” Peter asked as he stripped down and put his clothing away.

“Some. But not perfectly.” Wade shrugged. “If something’s making us fight, someone has to have the final say.”

“But are we certain that should be the crazy one?”

Wade smirked as Peter made his way back across the room. “Absolutely, baby boy, who else? The sane one? We’d die of boredom. Your poor underfed brain would simply wilt away without my shenanigans to keep it stimulated.”

“…That word salad actually makes sense.” Naked, Peter settled over the bigger man’s lap. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Haven’t done nothing yet, Petie-pie.”

“For being willing to tackle the responsibility of making the call when we can’t agree.” Peter managed not to laugh. “We’re both able to predict how things can go south, but if you’ve heard my reasoning and still think you know better, then it’s gonna be fun to watch at least.”

“What was that? Spank you longer and harder? Why certainly, baby boy; I’ll be glad to.”

Peter chuckled. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“No, you really aren’t.” Wade emphasized his point with a hard swat that made the younger man wince. “But let’s see if I can fix that.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter relaxed and let Wade tear into him. “How can this be so peaceful inside my head and so violent outside?”

“Shh, let that gorgeous brain rest, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Peter let his thoughts go quiet as his body jerked with each impact. Physically Wade switched things up to keep his lover’s body guessing, but the bigger man seemed intent on leaving Peter’s mind to its own devices for now. A gentle nag at the edge of his mind said that wouldn’t hold for long.

Ass stinging and mind empty, Peter found himself in his corner, arms high and breathing hard. “Thank you for the correction, Daddy.”

“Welcome, baby boy. Quiet now.”

Peter wished he’d asked about a timer. _Too late now._

Even with his enhanced hearing, he strained, still failing to track the bigger man through the room. By all rights his bulk should have been clumsy and loud, but he moved with the preternatural grace of a well-trained predator. _A killer._

Peter never let himself forget that fact. In some ways he suspected Wade was showcasing his abilities to help Peter prepare for the worst. Though they both hated to think that way, Wade could become a lethal threat with precious little warning. Twice in the last year, he’d lost track of reality enough to fire a hand cannon at Peter’s head. And twice Peter’s spidey sense directed him to dive for safety. Both close calls.

Since then he’d garnered a truce with the boxes. Though not a perfect solution, it gave Wade enough breathing room to keep reality in focus. So far.

With the boxes delight at their inclusion in bootcamp, Peter felt safer than he ever had around the ex-merc. After bootcamp, a weekly rapport with both boxes might be in order since his acknowledgement soothed their savagery toward his boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Maybe, maybe soon to be his fiancé.

Peter liked the idea, but he didn’t like liking the idea. With his graceless upbringing and brutal past, Wade wasn’t the kind of man you’d take home to meet the folks, though he’d charmed Aunt May more completely than Peter could have hoped. Something always set weird in his chest when he thought of their camaraderie. She’d always been his rock, but never a woman of violence. Not to his knowledge anyway. But she accepted Wade so completely, despite knowing and disapproving of Deadpool’s merciless reputation.

With a shock Peter realized he didn’t actually know her at all. Sure, he knew the woman who cared so deeply and selflessly for him, but the woman outside that role? Until now he’d presumed she’d be the same tough but kind lady. But that lady would never approve of Wade Winston Wilson chewing open-mouthed at her table. She had a past, and Peter never delved deeply enough to understand why she’d taken so generously to his crass lover.

“Why does she like you so much?” he blurted.

Wade drew close enough that Peter could feel his body heat. “Because I know the trials she went through. Not just with you and Ben.” He breathed down the smaller man’s neck. “Lots of women from her time, Petey, they had to be so damned tough, fight so hard just to be taken seriously. Many just to survive. And the ones who succeeded? They bear the marks. Just like I do.”

“Oh.” He’d never considered why Wade felt such a draw to older women. “Why can’t I think of these things on my own?”

“Oh, baby boy, you’re still so, so young.” Wade pinned Peter’s arms high on the walls. “And no one’s ever expected you to anticipate their every move and thought. Not like I do.”

“I was thinking about that,” Peter admitted. “Are the boxes really calmer when I pay them attention.”

“White’s subdued. Almost happy. Pleased you know he exists instead of thinking I—” Wade glitched for a moment. “I’m glad you speak to me. Do you know how tiresome it gets just having the meatsuit and the moron to talk to?”

“Be nice,” Peter warned.

“I love your attention. It makes this life so much more pl—” Wade grunted. “Get back, you damned box! Just because I let you out doesn’t mean you get to take over whenever you damned well please.”

“What about Yellow?”

“I don’t think there’s a cure for Yellow, but he’ll listen to you. Which is a damned sight better than he’ll do for me.” The older man made a dreamy sigh. “You’re so perfect; I just wanna destroy you. Rip you open and bleed you dry. But they insist it’d make you leave if I tried, and I never want you to leave. I can’t even think of life without you.”

“If you bled me dry, I wouldn’t have any choice; Death would come and take me away whether I liked it or not.”

Yellow whimpered. “No, she can’t have you. You keep all that sweet, precious red for yourself.”

“Thank you, Yellow.” Peter gathered his frayed emotions and tucked them back into the deepest recesses of his mind to study later. “Wade, is there any reason I shouldn’t set aside several hours every week for both of them?”

“If that’s what you want, Petey-pie, I’ll let them out for you.”

“I do.” Those words brought other images to Peter’s mind, white and frilly and best kept for later as well. “Wednesdays for White and Sundays for Yellow?”

“As you wish, my sweet orange blossom.” He ground against the smaller man’s backside. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Daddy, will you remind your boy to be honest, obedient, careful and…?”

“Respectful.”

“Respectful, right.” Peter started over: “Daddy, will you remind your boy to be honest, obedient, respectful, and careful?”

“Corner time isn’t over just because you got bored, baby boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I don’t like it though.”

“I know, my precious sweet, I know.” Wade nibbled at the nape of the smaller man’s neck. “Just a little while longer since Daddy just thought of something?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Knees weak from arousal, Peter slumped into the corner.

“Stand up straight, baby. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.”

“Yes, Daddy; thank you, Daddy. Please hurry though.”

“Be patient, my good, sweet boy.” Then Wade’s warmth abandoned him.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Nothing. It rang again.

“Daddy?” Peter called. “Wade?”

Still nothing.

Naked, Peter crept through the apartment. Out the peephole he saw Wade in a repairman’s uniform. Peter tucked his body behind the door as he opened it a crack. “Wha—?”

“Is the man of the house home, little guy? I have a work order for your pipes.”

Peter caught up quickly. “No, sir, but I can let you in.”

“Glad to hear it.” Wade pushed through the door without waiting for Peter to invite him. “Sure hope your daddy don’t come home before I’m through here, you pretty little thing.”

Chuckling, blushing, trying to hide, Peter replied, “Oh, but sir, my daddy is due home any minute!”

“Oh, well then I guess we’d better get to it. Now where is this leaky pipe.”

Peter struggled to keep a straight face. “It’s right here.” He clamped both hands around his erection. “But Daddy won’t like it if he finds you fixing the leak.”

“Well, I guess what Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”

“I guess not,” Peter said feeling truly timid as the bigger man reached for his aching erection.

On his knees, Wade licked his cock before swallowing it down. Keeping the tension firm but comfortable, he bobbed his head in time to music only he heard. Eager for relief, Peter lit his hips match the bigger man’s rhythm. Rather than the long tease, Wade hurried him to the finish line.

Once he’d taken all Peter had to offer, Wade kicked the door and switched positions. “Baby boy, I’m home.”

“Oh no!” Peter gasped, breaking down into giggles.

Wade changed his position, again kneeling in front of Peter. “No, don’t kick my ass!”

He jumped closer to the door and resumed his Daddy role. “Oh, you’re going down Mr. Repairman!”

He shifted back to Peter’s feet again. “Gah, I’m hit!” He spiraled dramatically to the floor.

Wade pantomimed throwing the repairman out of their apartment. “And as for you, young man, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy?” Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing outright.

“Oh, you think this is funny?”

“No, Daddy.” He couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped.

“That does it! Go sit in your chair until I’m ready to deal with your ass.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Biting his hand to keep his amusement quiet, Peter made his way to the chair he’d taken so much abuse over. He had a bad feeling that this was going to be one hell of a beating, but damn if that man couldn’t make anything interesting.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“So you’d let just any horny repairman into this apartment if it meant you got your dingle sucked dry?”

“No, Daddy. He just pushed his way through the door.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, Daddy. He said he had to fix the leaky pipe, and the only leaky pipe I know is mine.”

At those lines delivered in earnest, Wade chuckled as well. “Oh, baby boy, I’ll have to teach you not to let big, sexy men touch that pipe.” He twirled his hand in the familiar sign for: “Assume the position.”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”

As expected, Wade took the paddle and lit into him with passion. The younger man allowed the pain even as his tears spilled.

Eventually Peter caved. “Please, Daddy, it hurts!”

“I know, baby.” Wade stopped long enough to kiss between his lover’s shoulder blades. “Can you endure a little more for me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Though Peter whimpered and whined and writhed, he managed to return to position after each jolting impact. Wade kept the pain fresh and sharp, well ahead of the smaller man’s endorphins. Peter didn’t bother fighting the urge to yelp and plead.

“Take a few more for me?”

“Yes, Da-daddy…”

Sobbing and broken he let the pain continue to build. His world jerked and heaved, nothing but red misery in his vision. His mind begged him to scream pineapple but refused to quiet enough for him to consider the thought fully.

“Baby, can you take more for me.”

Breaths fast and shallow, Peter asked himself that two more times. “Yes, Daddy,” he ultimately decided.

“Fuck, baby boy, are you sure?”

Peter couldn’t decide if Wade sounded impressed or appalled. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Your wish, baby boy…”

After a few seconds to change his mind, that savagery again exploded into Peter’s world. He despised this, yet somehow Wade managed to get him to ask for more, not once but three times.

A dozen more strikes, and Wade asked again, “Can you take more for me, baby boy?”

Between sobs Peter choked out, “Don’t wanna, Daddy. Please, don’t wanna.”

“Shh, shh, okay, my sweet boy. Okay.” Wade wrapped Peter in a firm embrace and lifted the younger man into his arms. “It’s fine, baby boy. You don’t hafta.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter snuggled against his lover as he sobbed. “And thank you for reminding me to be honest, obedient, respectful, and safe.”

Wade snickered gently. “You’re still getting sentences, Petey-pie.”

“But not tonight?”

“No, sweet sweet boy, not tonight. Just your cage. Can you hold still for Daddy to lock you away all nice and safe, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter felt smaller than ever against Wade’s bulk. “Be gentle with me?”

“Whatever you want.” He lay Peter in the bed with all the care due the most precious and delicate treasures in the world.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Wade had trusted him to express his limit. Though the last dozen strokes had been pure torture as they happened, now that the flames had died to a roar, he appreciated the effect of his newfound endurance. Despite his pride in both, he still felt sadness pool under his ribs.

Once Wade had him locked away, Peter asked, “Hold me?”

“Okay, baby.” Wrapped protectively around the shivering frame of his love, Wade whispered, “So good, sweet boy. You’re always so good and strong and smart and kind. You make me want to the kind of man who deserves you, baby boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Unbidden tears flowed freely as Peter’s heart broke.

“’S okay, sweet boy. Cry all you need. I’ll hold you forever if that’s what it takes.”

Peter sniffled as he pressed into Wade’s solid embrace. “Thank you, Daddy.” _Absolute truth. _“I’m sad but I don’t know why.”

“Then be sad, my good, strong boy. Nobody said you hafta be happy all the time.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Content to be held as he sobbed, Peter allowed himself to accept his intense emotions as they rose, crested, and fell. Sadness overcame him again and again, but between those waves, he experienced pride and joy, anger and shame.

Safe in the same hands that had brutalized him, he dozed off.

“Don’t forget Peter’s Punishment Pyjamas™.”

“I hate you,” Peter muttered darkly as he struggled from the bed.

“Nah. You love me.”

“I do. Otherwise I’d shove these pjs so far up your ass you’d hafta move them to fuckin’ say goodnight.”

“Ooh, cranky Petey needs some corner time to wash out his mouth.”

Peter let his head fall back as he summoned all the patience left in his body. “Please, Daddy, wanna sleep.”

“Sorry, baby boy, too late now. Get into those jammies and head for your corner. I’ll be there with the soap, then set the timer for ten minutes.”

“Ten?” Peter asked in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s a year in soap time!”

“I know, sweet boy. But you’re lucky I haven’t already put you back over my knee. So be a good boy for me and suffer with joy.”

Face in the corner, Peter felt safe to roll his eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

Ten minutes of soap. He opened his mouth to accept the thick bar. Nine minutes fifty-nine seconds… Fifty-eight seconds… Fifty-seven seconds…

About halfway through the first minute Wade unbuttoned the flap on his pyjamas, and Peter lost count. Hard hands against his bruised flesh brought him to panting through his nose, ready to plead for Wade’s cock inside him, but Peter kept the soap in place, allowing his tiny mewls to speak for him.

“That right, baby boy? You want Daddy to come buried deep in those precious guts of yours?”

Caught between the urge to fake gag and the desire to whine, Peter’s resulting moan left no question about his answer. Just in case, however, he pressed his flaming ass back against his lover’s hard cock. Wade’s lube-slicked hand slid edgewise between his cheeks, making him tremble. Even as drool rolled down his chin, a garbled whimper escaped him.

Wade guided one arm to the small of Peter’s back before reaching for the other. Holding both snug, he pulled them upward until the younger man’s shoulders protested the stretch. “Gonna use you so hard you’ll be worthless tomorrow.”

_Yes, use me. Ruin me. Take me._

His weight pressed Peter into the corner. “Gonna destroy you so bad everyone will know Daddy fucked that ass good.”

_Yes, do it! Make it so everyone can see you own me._

“Gonna leave you so hot for me you never forget who’s your Daddy.”

_Yes, Daddy; thank you, Daddy._

Wade breached him effortlessly and sank to the hilt. “Mmm, that fire feels nice on my thighs. All toasty and cozy.” Far too slow and gentle, he rolled his hips, pumping into the smaller man. “Feels like home, baby boy.”

Then Wade was done talking. He grabbed Peter’s hips, pulled him into the thrust. Fast, hard, mean, the bigger man fucked him with relentless abandon.

“That’s it; take everything Daddy gives you.” He snaked his hand around to cling to Peter’s cage. “Does it hurt yet, baby boy?”

_Fuck yes it does._ Peter issued a wordless, forlorn plea.

Satisfied, Wade returned all his attention to savaging Peter. Though the smaller man groaned, whined, and occasionally sputtered, his cock remained untouched as it strained against its bounds. Obedient to his core he never considered moving his hands from exactly where Wade placed them. Unable even to beg, the younger man could only accept exactly what affections Wade granted him: a hard fuck that made him needy and desperate.

“That’s right, baby; grind into it. You like having your ass stuffed full while your cock suffers?”

_I hate it, Daddy. _A simpering, seething mess, Peter bucked into each thrust. Tears stung under his eyes in a way they hadn’t in days. He wanted to scream but couldn’t, and that fact alone frustrated him as much as the cock tease. _But I love it too._ His body hummed and jolted with pleasure. Forever on the edge of ecstasy, he stayed aroused, always ready for more. Even the air felt electric against his skin as he raged for release.

Never one to let routine become mundane, Wade slowed, almost stopped. Easy, fractional thrusts teased at Peter’s core. He strained to roll into the stimulus. With both hands gripping his hips, Wade moved with him, refusing more contact.

“Such a needy boy. I like it when you want me so bad you cry. Such a pretty boy. I like how you hold all that power, bend it to my will, even when it costs you so much. Such a good boy. My good boy.”

Peter could live for a week on that praise alone. No longer hoping to force more contact, he calmed into his lover’s gentle attention.

“That’s right, baby boy. Trust me. Promise I’ll make it worth every second.”

_Yes, Daddy._

A slow, pleasant ride for the moment, Peter settled into the soothing rhythm.

One overzealous breath and he pulled bubbles toward his lungs. Hacking, he shoved his lover back and tried to spit out the soap. Using his tongue, he dislodged it from where his teeth had sank deeply into the soft material. With barely the presence of mind to sputter, “Bleh, Wa-a-ade,” he doubled over to cough as the bar hit the floor.

Wade gave him his space, occasionally smacking between his shoulders to help clear his windpipe. “’S alright, baby boy. ’S my fault. Ten minutes was too long.” As the coughing fit subsided, he rubbed circles down the smaller man’s back. “So sorry, baby boy. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“’M fine.” Peter sputtered, grimacing at the slimy mess he’d made on his gleaming wood floor. “’M just choking to death.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Once Peter finally stopped coughing, he leaned into the corner. The mood broken, Peter could barely stay on his feet. “Daddy, ’m tired?”

“Yes, sweet boy, let’s call it a night. I’ll clean that up while you sleep, then I’ll make it all up to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” A bubble formed between his lips. “Time to go rebrush my teeth.”

Wade kissed just under his ear. “Mmm, don’t forget to think about me while you do.”

“Never.” Even as overwhelming fondness swept through him, Peter shook his head. “You’re impossible to forget.”


	12. Day 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our guys take a little field trip.

Peter stepped over the threshold and into the plane, while Wade dropped onto a white leather couch to watch him take in the luxuriously appointed space. “So this is a charter jet?”

“Hey, my baby boy’s first time crossing the pond, I wanted it to be special.” He flashed a victory sign and flicked his hand downward from the wrist.

_Strip. _“Um… Daddy, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Of course it is. No better way to fly!” Wade tucked his hands behind his head with a satisfied smirk. “I could put your cage and plug back into place. Either-or. Whichever you want.”

_Ugh, no. Sweet of the big guy to make a counteroffer though. _

After passing through the first security screening without his hardware, Peter had no interest in braving the second one while being stimulated and denied at the same time. European screeners, at least in his imagination, laughed and pointed rather than stifle their surprised giggles.

“No, thank you, Daddy; I’ll undress.”

He unbuttoned his shirt as he peered around the cabin: The couch faced a large television, beyond that an eating area. Toward the tail of the plane was an opened fold-away wall with a bedroom beyond. A welcome offset to the sterile whiteness of the space, arrangements of fresh yellow flowers sat on both small tables on either side of the aisle—_I wonder if they’re glued down_—while a large painting of sunflowers hung between the windows behind the couch. Not a bad way to travel.

“These guys always have fresh fruit and champagne in the minifridge… Oh…? Oh…? Really…? All that…? White says we ordered sushi from Kimm’s, a cheese and sausage platter from the brewhouse on 9th, two pizzas from that posh joint in the Flatiron, and a dozen ramekins of sour cream mousse with five-citrus compote from Elaine.” Wade tapped his head as if hoping the memory of ordering that food might pop free. “Eh, whatever. Can’t have my baby boy starve.”

“’M not gonna starve in four hours.” Peter waved off that idea.

The older man merely shrugged his broad shoulders. “Lunch was hours ago, and with your metabolism, you’re already starving, whether your stomach knows it yet or not. Now be a good boy and take off those pants for Daddy… Oh, ye myriad gods of mischief, yes, that shimmy gets me every damned time… Fuck yeah, peel ’em down those gorgeous legs real slow, baby boy… Mmm, love you bent over like that.” He gave a soft cackle. “Look funny in just your socks.”

“Shuddup.” Peter blushed furiously as he stood on one foot, then the other, to peel off his red-and-blue Mt. Fuji tabi socks. Wade had pouted for two days because he couldn’t find a store with a proper pair of Spider-man or Deadpool tabis before he had to leave Japan. “Happy now?”

“Mmm, you should come see for yourself how happy I am,” the older man cooed, patting his lap.

Peter took a final glance for somewhere else to sit. “Guess I will. Don’t wanna leave butt sweat on all this white leather. Ew.”

“Oh, baby boy, you’d be far from the first.”

“Double ew.” He climbed onto his partner’s lap, refusing to let anything touch the couch. A whiff of death jolted him with revulsion and panic before his rational mind caught up. Even with his overreactive senses, it’d been over a week since Wade’s cancer had offended his nose. “High telemerase day?” Didn’t look like it.

“Nah, forgot to cut arm day short for a shower at the gym before picking you up from the Virgin Vault.”

“Daddy, you gotta quit calling it that! We’re—”

Arm raised, Wade sniffed a pit. “’M not that rank.”

“—not virgins!” Peter raised a teasing brow but made no further comment on the smell.

With a harrumph, Wade continued, “You’re just hypersensitive.”

Peter huffed at the true accusation. “So tell me about this job.” Wade still hadn’t explained anything.

“That can wait til we’re airborne.” Grin teasing, he took Peter’s wrists into one firm hand. “Be patient.”

“Not my strong suit.” The younger man writhed, intentional and exaggerated, as he peeked upward through his lashes at his lover.

One of the pilots announced something about buckling in, but Wade’s withering focus distracted Peter far too much for him to comply. As the plane taxied, his boyfriend held the smaller man’s arms overhead, applying just that perfect amount of pressure to make Peter groan. While gravity shifted around them, Wade toyed with his body, savoring his reactions until the captain gave them the all clear to move about the cabin.

“So who’s Bluebird?” Peter asked, genuinely impatient now.

“More a what. Adrian Holt, last of the Flying Bluebirds.”

“I remember those kids; did stunt shows to promote mutant acceptance, right?”

“Yeah. Our guy‘s the one with the golden-yellow scales.”

“A technomancer after my own heart and an amazing acrobat—wait, I thought they all died in that plane crash.” Peter’s eyes flicked around the cabin as he imagined the same fate.

“Our little birdie quit the troupe a few days before. Stayed behind in Vegas. At the behest of one Dick Johnson.”

Lips downturned, Peter muttered a sardonic, “Lucky kid.”

“Yeah, maybe a month later some mook spent two days shredding his parents and two siblings. Hired hits—if one can call anything so inefficient and graceless a hit simply because it’s impersonal. Care to venture a guess on who’s my number one suspect for sabotaging plane and hiring the butcher?”

“Said penis?”

Wade’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Got it in one, Petey-pie. Wang Dong has a pretty stable MO: isolate the boy, use him until Dicky’s dicky runs dry, then sell the pretty boy to the highest bidder to make up some of his losses. Not that he really cares about the money, sells ’em more on principle: gotta wring everything possible outta his victims: Always male. Always pretty. Always between thirteen and fifteen. Always visibly a mutant.”

Peter let that information trickle through his memories of the news reports and op-ed rants from the time of the crash, while he carefully sectioned off an Uncle Ben-neutral space for processing his next question. “So what keeps Dicky from hiring someone to off the uncle?” The partition held, but he knew a sharp spike of heartache lurked on the other side.

Keen to everything about the younger man, Wade observed Peter as if he could see the wheels turning to erect and maintain that wall. “My guess? Adrian himself.”

Peter only nodded, waiting for Wade to continue.

“This guy’s a sneaky little asshole, Petey, not unlike yoursel—er, when you decide you wanna be. A sneaky little asshole, that is. I mean, not that you’re an asshole, but you’re damned sure sneaky when you… Er, yeah, so he reminds me of you.”

Though one dubious brow rose, amusement tugged at Peter’s lips.

“He’s agile, smart. A tinkertoy fancypants. Even with him out cold, I still got hit with one hell of a stun charge.” Wade grumbled, an angry thrum under Peter’s skin. “Thinks he has a handle on this situation; thinks he’s one up on Dicky.

“He ain’t but I am.

“You have exactly two advantages over your target, baby boy: strength and webs—well, also your sugar daddy waited until you were a grown damn man. Kid’s all of fifteen and pissed off at the world; dead friends, dead parents, you know the drill.” All business, the bigger man added, “His uncle doubled the reward for bringing him home to two mil.”

“So you already did this job for a million dol—? No, don’t answer that; it’s not important.” Peter paused to consider what did matter. “This uncle, you’re sure he’s a good guy?”

“Yeah, pretty damned. My impression: the kid ran outta boredom and greed the first time, grief the second. He’ll do anything to keep from thinking about everybody he’s lost. Even he knows his uncle’s right, that he needs some quiet time to process. He just doesn’t _want_ to resist the allure of all the cash he can possibly spend.” Attention focused on Peter, Wade cocked his head. “What, baby boy? You wanna ask Richard Weiner for four mil to leave his little birdie in Monaco? Hell, go for ten. He’ll pay it.”

Peter blinked, lost on how they arrived at this tangent. “Not what I said.”

“Eh, just as well.” Wade’s hands wandered to his lover’s chest, warm and firm over his chilling nipples. “’S not a bad idea, but me ’n Dicky have a history. Of torture. That I didn’t do. No matter what Dicky thinks. If I’d worked him over, our little Bluebird would be safe and sound at home with Mommy and Daddy. Hmph, I should prove it to him with a little love from Yellow.”

“Perfect, just perfect. Wade, I strongly—like super strongly—prefer Yellow stick to carving inanimate objects… Maybe a turkey at Thanksgiving.” Peter rubbed between his eyes as he sighed. “So you distract Dicky while I what, kidnap the kid?”

“’S not kidnapping to bring a minor back to their custodians—okay fine, guardians, whatever—oh, and fuck you… Don’t care…” Wade glared at nothing a moment longer. “Anyway White and I both triple checked and couldn’t find anything to hint otherwise.”

Peter had to ask, “Who’s the dick?”

“Eh, not that it matters, but Tycho Estevan “Ty” Priam, Greek national, 46, five-seven, one-eighty or so, dark-brown eyes, black hair graying at the temples, one strawberry birthmark under his right eye about the size and shape of a dime cut in half. Left handed. Bisexual. Charismatic and narcissistic.

“Above average intelligence. Above average strength and stamina. Likely metabolic steroid abuse. Quick with a knife and a headbutt. Keeps a .45 Valor Commander in a vest holster, a .22 Ruger Mark in his left-front pocket, and a fixed-blade Gerber Coyote on his belt, his weapon of choice. No toying, straight for the kill.

“Known traumatophobe and trypophobe, he hates the sight of me. Known ephebiphile and mutantophile, likes ’em smooth and exotic.” He ran a knuckle down Peter’s cheek. “Gotta say I’m with him on that.” He returned to his emotionless recitation: “Known to dapple in human trafficking and underage pornography. Likes to play rough. Has a reputation for becoming abusive once the new rubs off. Found innocent of hanging a Dutch rentboy back in 2002, ruled autoerotic asphyxiation. Found guilty of rape by deception in 2008, six months before he did marry into a vast fortune.

“Inherited his wealth from his deceased wife of two years, Lillianne Esmee “Lily” van der Heide-Templeton-Brady-Priam.”

Surprise ebbing, Peter remembered to close his mouth. He’d expected the man’s name, maybe a little description, not an in-depth biography. “You mean Lily Brady? The diamond heiress?”

“One and the same, Petey-pie. Good instincts: always follow the money.

“Her maternal grandfather also mined for precious metals and other gemstones. She oversaw creation of the Lindon Lange Jewelers chain and the Welterusten Moda and Sterrenhemel Eterna lines of high-end fine jewelry, ya know, the kind actors rent for the Oscars.

“Lekker Vinke, her short-lived perfumery—means tasty little bird—violated industry standards by using fossil amber as a cheap replacement for ambergris. Rather than pay the three-point-two mil fine to the Fragrance Creators Association, she folded the company.

“Her empire was bought with the blood, sweat, and tears of conscripted miners dying in nightmare conditions for generations on end. Not that she saw much of it. There’s no record of her visiting a single mine during her time as figurehead CEO. Seems something in one of the mines spooked her as a child, and she never went back underground.

“When she died her friends made discrete accusations of abuse if not outright murder, but no charges were preferred against Dicky.”

Facts cascaded through Peter’s mind, populating a single gigantic flow chart. He chased dozens of options before deciding to mix up the variables. “Since children like you, maybe I should web up Dicky while you talk to the kid again?”

“Meh, hardheaded little bugger won’t listen. I think he’s too far gone.”

Peter sputtered as his ears scorched. “Oh, hell no, you of all people did not just say that!”

Both hands up, Wade replied, “Don’t remember what I said, Petey, but I meant we’re gonna bring him home and he’s gonna run away again for as long as Dicky will welcome him back with open purse strings. And Dicky’d lure the boy out for no other reason than to laugh in my fucked-up face.”

Peter nodded as his mind returned to the kid’s situation. “So we press statutory charges in Monaco?”

“Can’t. He’s past the age of consent there. One of the reasons Dicky pointed his ship in that direction—gotta admit, Lily Brady had taste; the 2015 Van de Graaf Atlantic is faithful reproduction of the finest sailing yachts ever built. Dutch used those fine ladies to chase down pirates. She’s gorgeous, Petey—hey, you want one? I have a feelin’ I might could get one cheap after this job ends.”

“No.” Peter snorted at the mere thought. “No sailboats for me, thanks. Screw the wide-open sea. I need the closed in confines of the big city.”

“Uh-huh, you need some closed in confines alright, but I reckon we’ll leave you running free until we land. Now where was I?” Wade’s brows drew together. “Ri-i-ight, the other reason for Monaco: our little bird’s penchant for escorts. He might trade that ass for access to Dicky’s ill-gotten booty, but he uses the cash to rent time from a different girl every night.” Wade turned deadly serious. “As a man who knows what he likes, I think Dicky gets his kicks watching them.”

Wade jerked as his face blanched. “White, what the fuck, man? Chill!”

While the older man hashed out his issue with White, Peter placed the escorts into the matrix of variables. “That’s kinda… unsanitary. And self-destructive. And a little impressive if I’m honest.”

“Not the point. The point is we make Port de Fontvieille Marina twelve to eighteen hours before they do, fuck until they show, web the kid up in a neat little bow, and fly our little birdie home again. No muss, no fuss, and most importantly, no delay on bootcamp. Then we walk away with a cool mil each.”

For a few seconds Peter ran and reran the scenario Wade laid out. He found no obvious issues, and at this point any plan more in-depth would require significant adjustments as new info came in. Best to let his subconscious mind generate ideas without trying to steer it.

_This weekend we’ll earn more money than I earned in the last decade… Decades. Wants to keep me for decades…_ “Um, Wade, I know it’s none of my business, but what the hell do you do with all that money? Half the time, you’re as broke as I am.”

“Whatever I want, baby boy.” The ex-merc blinked as if he didn’t understand the reasoning behind such a question.

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’d forgotten the anguish of life on the razor edge of financial ruin. Maybe he’d never cared if he had to dumpster dive for a few meals or rob a grocer between paydays. Hell, so many food venders owed him favors that he couldn’t go hungry in the city if he tried. More likely, though, Yellow blocked that section of his life from their mind, refused to allow their times of poverty to be examined for fear of what they’d find.

“And right now I want your ass over my lap.”

Well, the afterwork reprieve was nice while it lasted. Frantic to buy time to clear the stray emotions from his mind, Peter whined, “Ungh, Daddy, do I gotta?”

“Short answer, yes. Long answer, no.”

“Same as it ever was.”

Peter huffed but turned to lay across the couch with his tender globes in easy reach for the man who planned to hurt him for shits and giggles. At least he didn’t have to kneel this time. No telling what might lurk unseen on the floor.

After a few slow breaths, he parroted, “Daddy, your boy did something dishonest, disrespectful, disobedient, and dangerous. Will you correct him?”

“Glad to.” Wade grinned like a man who’d just won the big lotto. “Maybe you won’t need those sentences after all.” He set to the task with fanatic enthusiasm, but only after nothing short of fifteen minutes spent fondling Peter’s ass with the subdued awe of a man in the presence of divinity.

A bigger shock than the charter plane, a gullwing sportscar in sunburst yellow awaited them at the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport. “Um, Wade…? What’s with the car?”

“It’s a McLaren720. Why? Should I have reserved’ed the midnight purple one?”

Peter shook his head as he noted the ostentatious shows of wealth all around. “Just figured a Beamer was about as good as it gets.”

“Oh, sweet summer child, this is Monte Carlo, where a Beamer is slumming it. Only the best for my baby boy. Dammit, shoulda sprung for the Koenig’s Egg; those suckers can top three hundred miles an hour. Wonder what these fine folk’d think of some true Detroit rolling iron rumbling down their streets…?” Wade came around and opened his boy’s door, releasing the rich scent of traditional leather. “Hop in! Let’s see the sights!”

Low slung and aerodynamic, with the thunder of hundreds of horsepower strumming behind the seats, the McLaren handled like an extension of Wade’s body. So much so that Peter spent more time admiring his love than watching the scenery zip by. And that was saying something. To one side, the sea, as blue and pure as he’d ever imagined it; on the other, stucco colonial buildings climbing the steep and rocky craigs, rising in jagged steps toward the crystalline heavens overhead. A pleasant sensory overload, Peter could get used to this far too quickly.

A half hour later and they cruised along a marina that harbored dozens of large private vessels. Beyond them the water merged with the sky in a dazzling slash of ultramarine along the horizon. The setting sun gilded the entire coastline, each ship and building glowing gold. “Jeez, no wonder people rob banks.”

“Oh, Petey-pie, takes more than strong-arming a bank to get this rich. And I should know.” He flashed a rakish grin. “I’ve lied, stolen, killed, and died for the pleasure.”

Peter knew that, of course he did, but he’d never empathized with the idea before. After a few hours of opulent luxury, he understood so much more about greed.

All this time he’d been vigilant, buttressing his moral bearing against Wade’s violence and insanity. In the last twelve days alone, he’d seen glimpses of so many dangers. Wade lifted him to towering heights that inevitably dropped to terrifying lows. Already an adrenaline junkie, the endorphins of their impact play teased him with promises of euphoria. He could very well see himself succumb to blind obedience, following the man just to experience that high.

Yet Peter hadn’t experienced fear, only reminders to be mindful. And no matter what Stark thought, Peter knew he was right on that count. In the last day or two, that hollow sensation of being owned, of being powerless to resist in the face of overwhelming power, gave way to a sense of belonging. Whether that was orchestrated by Wade or simply a result of their ever-shifting dynamic, Peter couldn’t care less. Truth was Peter brought out the best in Wade, making the rabbit hole of his mad existence a place that Peter didn’t mind calling home. He’d found the comfort he needed, and damn anyone who couldn’t see that.

Yet he’d been so very wrong about the greatest danger Deadpool posed to Spider-man. Far more intriguing than the violence and insanity, far more damning than the guilt by association, this kind of excess would draw him in and swallow him whole.

If Peter let it.

A snap of fingers in his face jarred him to attention. “Hey, baby boy, we’re here. Asked if you wanted to get settled in or go for a walk first. After hours trapped on a plane, then more time in this cramped rocket, I’m dying for some cardio, but I’ll get mine either way.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked dumbly. They’d been plenty aerobic on the plane, thank you very much. “Let’s get settled in. I’m a bit spacey.”

“Your wish, baby boy.” Wade grabbed both weekend bags before tossing the keys to a parking valet. “Man, that’s a lot more satisfying when you guys aren’t used to quarter mil cars.”

The valet gave him a polite if cold smile, then snapped into action.

A bell boy in top hat and tails bustled forward. “Sir, I can take those bags if—”

“Nah, Jeeves, I got this. You go butler somebody else.” He tipped the man anyway. “Don’t say I never gave ya nothin’.”

Wade escorted Peter inside the sprawling, majestic hotel. Understated and curving, the lobby led to a sleek registration desk. There awaited a young woman in a similar tuxedo with a large white peony at the lapel. Her top hat sat at an odd angle that reminded Peter of Old Hollywood.

“_Bienvenue à L'hôtel Munegu_.” The words had a weirdly Italian sound for someone speaking French, which Peter supposed made sense as they were within a comfortable driving distance to the border.

While Wade and the woman spoke, Peter studied the spacious room. Warm beige trimmed in golden woods with accents of dark cranberry, the place had a 50s modernism vibe, as if time had frozen at the peak of Monte Carlo’s international appeal, when Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier, a real fairytale wedding. What? He’d read up.

At a familiar warning growl Peter shook off the judging eyes of his imaginary audience and squeezed between Wade and the counter. “Um, parlay voo Ingles?”

“Oui, monsieur, I was just telling your friend Sledge zat I have no reservation in his name or for Jack Hammer.”

“Ah.” Peter nodded to her as he fought off a laugh. _Sledge Hammer? Fuck you, Weasel._ “So do you have any rooms available?”

Wade muttered under his breath.

“Oui, monsieur, but your friend, he insists he should have ze Rose Suite, which is not available.”

“Okay… So do you have another suite?”

“Non, monsieur.” She flashed Peter a weary but mischievous smile. “Mais I do have ze loggia. It has ze best view in ze hotel, but ze nearest la salle de bain and les vécé is in ze downstairs hallway.” At this Wade’s grumbling picked up pace, making her point clear: it was the best she could offer, and no amount of intimidation would change that fact.

“Bear with me one moment.” Peter turned in the tight space to fit a hand to either side of his lover’s face. “You got this, big guy?”

“Weas is a dead man.”

Peter bit his tongue to keep from saying, if he wanted something done right, he should have done it for himself. “Maybe, but right now this nice woman would like to check us into our room.”

“Our room’s occupied, Petey-pie.”

While rubbing soothing circles at his temples, Peter gave him a soft smile. “Does it matter?”

“But I wanted everything to be perfect.” An inconsolable whimper escaped the deadliest man in five countries.

Voice low, despite the impossibility of discretion, Peter cooed, “It is, Daddy; it’s absolutely perfect.”

A grin finally broke across the ex-merc’s scarred features. “You lie but I like hearing it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Peter smacked him on the ass. “Now get us checked in so we don’t miss a second of our aerobics class.” The younger man slipped from between them, letting their negotiation pick up wherever they’d left off.

The elevator opened for highest level of the hotel’s oldest section. Their single small room was accessible by ladder, the cramped corridor below housing separate rooms for the bath and toilet. Wade barely cracked the trapdoor before he jumped back to land between Peter and a falling flash of red.

A Deadpool plushie tumbled innocently to the floor.

“Not Weas’ fault,” Peter muttered as they headed for the emergency stairwell added to the structure.

On the other side of the uppermost fire door, Wade stopped on the staircase landing. “Told ya our little Bluebird’s an asshole. Not dangerous, just such a little shit. Prob’ly wants me to leave without Dicky ever knowing I was here; don’t wanna stir up too much trouble for his sugar daddy.”

“We gonna stay here anyway?” Peter had no opinion one way or the other.

“What? You wanna give our Dicky a little something to fap over.”

“Daddy, you’re terrible.” Peter managed to keep a straight face; exposing kids to sexcapades was no laughing matter. “Can’t have a minor—”

Wade clasped his hands over his ears. “White, fuckin’ shut it! What the hell is with you today?”

“Want me to talk to him?” Peter offered.

“Just can it, damn.” Stress etched every line and mar of Wade’s face. “I never ‘want’ you anywhere near either of the badger fuckers in my head, baby boy. But he’s screaming—” Hard, rigid muscles rose in corded sinews along Wade’s neck and even his forehead. “Fuck off! You get to run the meatsuit only when I decide to let you!”

And then he cackled, manic and edgy. “Oh, that ain’t how it works, avocado face.” White’s attention fell on Peter with a distinct heft. He whipped a handful of hundreds from Wade’s wallet. “Petey, take a taxi to the airport and book the first flight outta here. This guy. This guy, he ain’t right—and that’s coming from me. You don’t wanna see what it’ll take to unalive him while I still can.”

Peter’s Adam’s apple spasmed as his lover’s normally tender gaze pierced him with that demonic ferver. “White, it’s oka—”

“No, fuck, Peter, it’s not okay! Nothing near okay!” His lover’s hand wrapped around his jaw and hefted him upward.

Feet dangling Peter’s heart slammed against his ribs at a jackrabbit pace. When their long rooftop meals had evolved into more, Peter promised himself one thing: he’d never act like prey around Wade in any of his incarnations. But damn if he didn’t feel like White was toying with his food. “You’re scaring me; please calm—”

“You should be scared! This is no time to remain calm! Run, damn you, run!” White shoved him toward the steps.

An instant before White released him, Peter webbed an anchor overhead, money floating down the steps forgotten. “Dammit, just talk to me like a normal human for once! What’s wrong?”

“Please, Peter, go! Find somewh—”

“Tell me.” Arms crossed, brows drawn, lips pursed, Peter let those two words work their magic.

After half a minute, White slouched against the wall, then slid to the floor. “AIM had this program… Eh, same as the rest really. Always after the elusive super soldier. That dick’s not on steroids; he’s microdosing X07.”

Exactly one memory popped into Peter’s head: Daredevil complaining that X07 made Madcap as indestructible and insane as Deadpool. “Oh.”

“No shit, ‘oh.’ Get out of here.” He stood, went to shove Peter again. A double shot of webbing slammed him into the stairwell wall and restrained him there.

“Not happening. I’m not running.” Peter took two strides closer. “And why haven’t you told Wade this?”

“No god will have mercy on my soul, but I didn’t know it was the same guy. Else I’d never have let you come here.” Wade’s body trembled, a single violent shake.

That malicious smile gave way to a worried grimace. After casting a glance around, Wade sighed. “Whatever you did, it worked. He’s gone.”

“Never seen a box scared before. He intends to kill Mr. Penis, said dude’s on a super soldier serum. But, Wade, I think he’s scared of you.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Long as he quit screaming.” Wade quirked a brow. “So, um, what’s with the bondage, baby boy?”

“Asshole went to push me down the steps. Wanted me to get in a taxi and go.”

“Yet here you stand.” That proud grin soothed a ragged, wound in Peter’s soul. Wade strained against the webbing. “Mmm, Daddy likey. We need to do this more often.”

“According to you we need to do everything more often.” With an amused smirk, Peter left his beloved there while he gathered the money and placed it back into the bigger man’s wallet. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, we can’t take horizontal refreshments in our room until I’ve found and disabled any bugs.”

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere. We’re five thousand words into this chapter, and I’ve yet to wet my wick.” His grin turned cocky. “Not on screen anyway. Looking forward to a threepeat and fourpeat on the plane ride home.”

Stroking one pocked cheek, Peter whispered into his ear, “That what you want, Daddy? Your wick licked, then sucked dry?”

“Oh, you know it, baby boy.”

Rather than drop to his knees, Peter put his foot in the middle of Wade’s chest, pushed until the bigger man groaned, low and primal, dripping with ravenous need. Despite the bit of spider strength in the move, the mere fact plain ol’ Peter Parker had that effect on his lover sent a surge of heat southward. His cock jerked against his cage, reminding him of his place for eighteen more days.

“Sorry, Daddy. I’ll cut you down, then be a good—”

“Don’t you dare!” Wade thundered, nostrils flaring.

Innocent doe eyes under batting lashes, Peter protested, “But, Daddy, ’m not s’posed to top this month.”

“Petey, I swear on Thor’s cuddly dad bod, I’ll beat you until Helen melts if you don’t—Quit laughing! This is an urgent and serious matter!”

Cupping the older man’s jaw in a gentle hand, Peter ran his knee up the outside of Wade’s thigh. “Urgent?” He repeated the process on their other side. Kneeling on the wall, he ground into the ex-merc’s hardening erection. “Serious?” A whimper his only reply, he rubbed his cheek against the bigger man’s before asking in a husky, breathless huff, “What’s the matter, Daddy? Spider got your tongue?”

As he massaged along Wade’s trapped arms, muscles strained and rippled. He delved in for a tender kiss. Lips parted, he swirled his tongue against his lover’s in a silent promise of what he’d do when he finally wrapped those lips around the cock throbbing against his abs.

High and sweet Wade mimicked Lily Allen’s voice as he sang into Peter’s kiss, “Oh you're supposed to care, but you never make me scream. You never make me scream. Oh it's not fair. And I think you’re really mean.”

“You want me to be mean, Daddy?”

Wade tried to catch his boy’s lips again, close but not quite touching. “So mean.”

Falling into the familiar headspace, Peter’s features sharpened to his own sadistic leer as he decided on a long tease. “Think how nice it’ll be, my mouth around your hard cock.” With a light chuckle he added, “Mmm, I can feel it, Daddy, thrusting between my lips, so eager for me. Can you feel the slide, all warm and wet and welcoming?”

When his lover went to reply, Peter licked into his mouth. “You love being my slutty little toy, don’t you, Daddy? Love the way I suck your cock until you’re a boneless, mindless wreck?” This time he interrupted the big man’s reply with two fingers in his mouth.

Catching on that Peter was taking his voice for this encounter, Wade gave an exaggerated nod.

“You want me so much you can’t even keep your boy in his place. How does it feel being outta control? Being so fucking horny you’d do anything for the man who won’t let you come?” That one brought a pang of regret as Peter’s own cock rose in reply, a reminder that Wade wasn’t the only one at the mercy of his libido.

Wade managed a pouty grunt.

“Aw, Daddy, don’t you like being wrapped around your boy’s little finger?”

As Peter stroked over his tongue, Wade moaned, fully gone, putty in his lover’s hands.

“Show me. What makes your little black heart go pitter-patter, Daddy? Oh, you like those firm little kitten licks? Would that feel so good just under the head of your aching cock?” Mindful of his cage, Peter rutted against his lover, plug in his ass making his need sharp. Maintaining his concentration would have been so much easier without the hardware. _Focus, dammit. _“You’re so pretty when you’re desperate. I’d love to keep you like this all day, every day. Hard. Hopeful. Hungry.”

Wade gave a soft hum, pleased with the idea.

“Mine.” Peter remembered the more tender shift in their dynamic and added, “Loved.” He stepped back.

The big man’s eyes fluttered before squeezing closed. His needy whine resonated low in Peter’s body, causing another spasm in his cage.

No matter. Even if he’d surrendered his own body, he was in full control of his boyfriend, and that was his only concern for now.

Time to switch things up, Peter gave both nipples a squeeze harsh enough to make the big man wince. “But we can’t just get you hard, can we, Daddy? Gotta make sure it hurts so much you scream, now don’t we?”

Mouth lax, a wordless, sinful plea bled from his lover until he released the abused flesh.

Peter slid a hand between them, fumbling his way into Wade’s slacks. “You’re gonna hurt so sweet. Know how much I adore you in every fiber of your being.” From balls to tip, he stroked the hard flesh between them, the contact too gentle, making Wade hump for more. “I love your body, love these scars, love how you wear them like a badge of honor.” Cheating a bit, he disregarded reality in favor of watering the emotional seeds he tended so carefully. As he slithered down Wade’s body, he let his voice drop low, the words a muffled whisper kissed against feather-soft fabrics. “I can barely keep my hands to myself. Every time I see you—hell, every time I get a whiff of the gun oil and spent powder on your pillow—I wanna rip your clothes off and make you beg so sweet for me, pretty Daddy.”

That pained whimper rose too high, too quick; Peter had struck an emotional nerve. Tired from the travel, the newness of a foreign city, and the hours of Wade’s full attention on the plane, the younger man chose to move along rather than risk a drop. Best to stick to physical play for now.

Steeling himself against that single damning memory—Mary Jane shocked and pregnant and sobbing, terrified of him—Peter squared his shoulders. When the older man’s eyes fluttered open, he telegraphed the backhanded slap, jarring enough to leave Deadpool stunned.

The older man’s bald adoration and raging erection promised his undying loyalty if Peter would hit him like that often and repeatedly.

“Not gonna let the whole world know how much you like having the taste slapped outta your mouth?”

Wade whined, acknowledgement that he had plenty to say on that subject and every other.

A heavy metallic clank and grating squeal echoed up the stairwell, a door opening below them. Peter froze, hand on the hilt of Wade’s scalpel-sharp assassin’s blade. Footsteps hurried down to street level, and he relaxed.

When Peter turned back, Wade smirked down at him.

Arms akimbo the smaller man glared up. “Maybe this isn’t ideal. Doesn’t mean I’m through with you.”

Amused and indulgent, Wade flexed his arms to emphasize the fact he wasn’t going anywhere until Peter freed him. And highlight his musculature, a sight that always brought Peter a jolt of lust. When the smaller man flinched at the yank of his caged arousal, Wade’s infuriating smirk waivered, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh, that’s funny? Let’s see how humorous you find this—” Peter needed only seconds to lift Wade’s cock from his pants and swallow it to the hilt. However he took a full minute to pull back, the motion so slow that Wade’s legs trembled as he bucked to no avail. “’S what I thought.” Since he was already here, he added those kitten licks.

As Peter continued his tease, Wade’s agonized whimpers dripped with unsated desires.

Watching his lover’s ever-shifting expressions, Peter settled from his knees to sitting on his feet. Careful to remain relaxed enough to keep his sticky burrs to himself, he set to gently squeeze the balls in his face, only enough to frustrate the big man. Next squeeze just a tad firmer, he built up a rhythm, slowly adding a bit more bite to his affection until the ex-merc panted in mild distress.

“Ready to hurt?”

Wade blinked down with a dopey smile. “Petey-pie, I was born ready.”

“Safe word?”

“Pineapple.” With a soft chuckle, he added, “Make me scream like you only you can, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter replied, though for a long moment he simply sat and stared in adoration.

The gentle rhythm of Peter’s massage gained intensity a little faster this time. When Wade pulled back from the sensation, the smaller man leveled off at the edge of too much. Once his lover’s expression dulled, Peter tucked away the naughty bits, just in case someone came up the stairs. He started with the big man’s calves and worked his crushing grip up that mountain of muscle. Hyperalert to every twinge and grunt, he tempered his strength to Wade’s reactions. Once every major muscle had a taste, he cut loose with the fast, shallow strikes the older man favored, a dozen at the time.

Three rounds and Wade broke. “Fuck, need you! Please, baby boy!”

Peter wasted no time in cutting him free. “Follow me, big guy. Surely we can find somewhere a tiny bit more comfortable.”

“Whatever you say, Petey-wheatie-kins.” Loyal as a Labrador, he grabbed their luggage and followed in the younger man’s wake.

Behind the first door in the hallway, Peter found what he sought, a claw-footed porcelain tub. “Your skin looks good today; you up to standing under the shower while I have my way with that delicious body of yours?”

Wade ran his knuckles down the smaller man’s cheek. “Baby boy, from the way you’re squirming on that plug, you sure you don’t want Daddy to take over and have his way with your little twink body?”

Blinking as he considered it, Peter asked, “Have I hurt you enough?”

“Mmm, hurt me plenty, Petey-pie. Such a very good boy, so very, very good for me.” Issuing the kind of wicked laugh that made the smaller man crumble, Wade padded the edge of the tub with a doubled over towel. 

Taking Peter down with a sweeping kick, the big man draped his lover with gentle care, ass up, over the wide rim. Stunned by the speed of the take down, the younger man's heart thudded hard and fast. Hands on the cold porcelain, he let his head hang down in full trust.

A hard caress roamed Peter’s vulnerable globes. “And Yellow’s adamant that it’s way past time for your after-we’ve-settled-in spanking.”

Until his constant motion was brought to his attention, Peter had blocked his own desires from his focus entirely. Rolling and clenching now, he bore down on the plug. His keen tapered off into a sob. “Oh, fuck, I need outta this cage, Daddy, please!”

“Now, now, you’ll hafta wait a little while longer. But I’ll be quick about it.” With a lighthearted laugh, Wade sang, “Twinkle, twinkle, little twink, how I wonder what you think. Swing above the world so high, like a spider in the sky.”

Peter turned just long enough to comment, “Yellow’s in a major good mood.”

“Eh, we’re both enjoying the break from White’s shitshow. He can be such a Debbie Downer.” That smirk was back as Wade pulled Peter’s Punishment Paddle™ from his bag. “Ask for what you need, baby boy.”

“Daddy, will you correct your boy so he remembers to be honest and respectful and obedient and careful.”

“Kiss your girl, sweety Petey.”

The instant he did, a lightning-quick spank landed so hard Peter squealed. And Wade didn’t let up. This barrage was what Peter had imagined that first morning. His voice crackled as he yelped louder; a few times he straight out screamed. Flames blazed from mid-thigh to the meatiest part of his ass. Any effort at evasion only pressed his hips uncomfortably into the porcelain.

Stars floated in Peter’s vision as he hyperventilated, struggling to replace the air lost to his shouts and sobs. The pain reached too much and the hits kept coming. After a few days without thinking so much about yelling pineapple, the word sat on the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t want it to stop.

“Yellow!”

Instantly concerned, Wade asked, “You alright in there?”

“Yes, Daddy, just need to catch my breath before I pass out.” His tears stung, and he ran the heel of his palm over his cheeks to dry them.

“Shh-shh, yes, I know he screamed your name… Oh, Bea Arthur’s pearls, I know!” Wade swatted at the box. “Mmm, good boy. Very good, taking care of Daddy’s boy. Even if that was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thing to scream. As far as Yellow’s concerned, this should be the holiest of international holidays. He’s gonna be insufferable.”

“Aw, my sweet yellow box, be good for Wade. I promise you can make me scream your name all day Sunday if that’s what you want. But only if you’re good for Wade until then. We got a deal?”

Wade blushed and hid his laugh behind a hand. “Oh, baby boy, I think you’ve got that box whipped. Far as I know, Yellow ain’t never been this dovey keen on anyone. I think he loves you more than his precious red.”

“Thank you, Yellow.” Peter twisted and rose to press a gentle kiss to Wade’s temple. “I promise we’ll do whatever you want come Sunday. Within moderate reason of course. Don’t wanna scar up your scullery wench.”

Relaxed, Wade asked, “You ready to finish up?”

“Yeah.” Peter got back into position.

Wade counted each smack: “Seventy-eight… seventy-nine…” When he reached a hundred he scooped Peter into his arms, swinging him from side to side with his feet dragging a bit across the dark wooden floor. “Mmm, such a tough little twinky-winky. N’ he’s mine, all mine!” Wade snorted. “Fine, ours. Asshole.”

“Is Yellow being a good box?”

“…Yeah. Don’t change the fact he’s an asshole.”

Peter snorted. “Let’s rinse off the road sweat and go find those bugs. I’m ready for a bed.”

Peter followed Wade up the ladder. For a moment he stood stunned. “It’s all open; there aren’t any windows.”

“It’s a loggia, more a rooftop patio than a traditional room.”

Sunburst capitals sat perched atop square columns with intricate arches between them. A generously sized four-poster bed with a white comforter, all topped by a mosquito canopy, occupied the middle of the space. The single ancient brick wall lacked art, but Monte Carlo shone in the distance, all neon and glitz, while the dark night ocean stretched from the marina to the horizon under a sea of brilliant stars, the moon not yet cresting the horizon. With all the other buildings clinging to the rocky craigs below them, Peter gazed down on an ancient, mystical world.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Wade sidled up behind him and wrapped both arms around the smaller man. “Gotta admit, I owe Lola a fat tip. Never thought the roof would be the most romantic room in the hotel.”

Five minutes and six crushed bugs later, Peter knelt, chest to the bed, displaying his blazing ass, his straining rim, and his caged cock. “Please, Daddy, wanna come.”

Wade’s dark chuckle said relief wouldn’t be found so easily. “Seems I recall promises of cocksucking.”

All cat-in-heat, Peter slid hands-first from the bed with languid grace. He slinked on all fours to his lover’s feet. “Yes, Daddy.” Humming tunelessly he nuzzled along the older man’s zipper. “Please may your boy please, please suck Daddy’s thick cock? Please?”

“Since you beg so pretty…” Those exaggerated antics made Wade snicker as he unfastened his pants and let them drop to his knees. “I suppose I could feed my boy a little love yoghurt.”

Unable to keep a straight face, Peter groaned. “That? That was awful, and you should be ashamed.”

“Ash Hamed? Never met the guy.” Wade cupped his hand at the back of Peter’s head and pulled his boy’s face against his silk boxers. “Enough talk. Get to work. Don’t make me break out the whip.” At the smaller man’s tiny but shuddery gasp, he hastily added, “Kidding. Just kidding… Unless you want the whip. I’m sure I can find a single tail…”

Ignoring the big man’s ramble, Peter set to his task with gusto and flair. To keep his boyfriend—_maybe soon to be fiancé—_guessing, he added teasing licks every few bobs and varied the tempo from brutally slow to punishingly fast.

When Wade grew impatient with the tease, he grabbed Peter’s hair with both hands, taking control. Lips padding his teeth, moaning his surrender, Peter kept up a firm suction while his lover took pleasure in him. As Wade jerked to a halt, pumping bitter liquid over his taste buds, Peter reveled in the sensation of giving so deeply of himself. He blinked up to find his lover staring down at him, that same smirk back in place, promising so much pleasure if only Peter would endure the next gauntlet with grace.

Wade offered him a hand. “C’mon, baby boy; let’s get you on your back and helpless.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter replied, lips worn so thin he could taste blood through the skin.

He let the older man lead him to the bed, waited as Wade found rope in one of his pouches and tied him wrist and ankle. Spread eagle in the middle of the bed, the younger man shivered as hard hands roved his overwrought body, bringing pleasure and pain in equal measure. As his cage was removed, he whined; at the first touch to the sensitized skin, he whimpered. Such pathetic little mewls spewed from him as his muscles convulsed with the raging desire Wade stoked in him.

“Please.” The word came as a breath and left him flaming at the humiliation of his own desperation.

Without mercy, Wade continued to tease his boy’s cock and prostate. “There’s my good boy,” he cooed as he tugged the plug inside the smaller man.

A lifetime passed as Peter fought a losing battle. “Please, Daddy!” he groaned in pure anguish. Once he reached the point of pure misery, he couldn’t stop himself: “Daddy, please, whatever you want, however you want, just let me come. Ruin it; don’t care. Hurts so much, Daddy, plea—!”

Then Peter was coming over his abs. Even without further stimulation, his body tried to jackknife from the intensity of his release.

After Wade wiped the effluence from the younger’s skin with a moist towelette, he straddled his boy. “That’s one. Hope your healing factor is ready for the next twelve hours.” His evil chuckle resonated in the pit of Peter’s stomach. “I’m gonna ride you until you’ll promise the moon just to make me give that perfect pecker five minutes of fresh air so you don't suffocate.”

“Oh no, Daddy, please don’t make me beg.” A high, carefree giggle seeped steadily from Peter. “I’ll never survive the sheer humiliation of my tortured pleas falling on ears deaf to my plight.”

“Then you’re a dead man, baby boy.” Wade licked into Peter’s gasping mouth. “’Cause I’m gonna ignite every craving you’ve ever known, wring every little prayer from those blood red lips, etch my name on your soul even as you scream it for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter replied, fully awed by the big man’s promise.

This was gonna be a long, hard night, pun fully intended.


	13. Day 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, plot and villain. The violence is tagged for any who wish to skip it.

Peter’s back swayed as Wade grabbed both shoulders to pull their groins snug while he came inside the smaller man again.

“Please, Daddy, we’ve been at this for hours. Just a quick nap and I’ll be fresh as a daisy, ready to go again. But I’m exhausted.”

“I know, baby boy. Let’s get you into your pajamas and refresh the fire on dat ass, then you can have a few hours of sleep.”

“Can’t, Daddy, I forgot to pack them.” Peter could barely bite back his laughter.

“Lucky for me, I called ahead and had the concierge order an extra pair. Even after the mix up, I’ll bet they are in the dresser over there.”

Peter pulled open the top drawer. Sure enough, a pair of hoodie pyjamas stared back, quite literally, the unicorn’s googly eyes huge on the chest of the blue monstrosity. “Oh, you are a big fat suck thing. Daddy.” Maybe it earned him a hard smack on his ass, but that complaint was definitely worth the abuse of his backside.

“You wanna know what sucks? Your ability to suck it up, cupcake. Now get moving before I decide you need something more than a love tap for motivation.”

Though fluffy and horrible, Peter took his new pjs to the bathroom with him to freshen up before donning them. He didn’t bother buttoning the flap before climbing back to their little love nest atop the world.

Peter had barely cleared the trapdoor before his spidey sense drove him to the ceiling. A single shot echoed from the hardscape all around them as he asked, “The fuck, Wade?”

“That’s exactly what White said you’d say! Fuckin’ hallucinations. Die, damn you, die!”

“Fuck, Wade, it’s me!” Peter leapt to an archway as another bullet tore into the masonry. “It’s really me!”

“Yeah, right, and I’m the pope. Like Spidey would ever show me his face! Hell, like Spidey would be such an angelic cutie. And those pyjamas? Only in my imagination would Spidey be caught dead in those! Oh, you’re a hallucination alright, just like White said.”

“So help me, Wade, if you kill me, I’ll haunt your ass!” Peter dodged a third bullet. “Fuck, Yellow, I need you to make that giant jackass see reason.” When he got no response, he went on, “Remember how I screamed your name, Yellow? Surely you remember that? How I let you have a taste of my blood. C’mon, if Wade unalives me, you can’t play with me tomorrow.”

Wade raised his pistol. “Here, spoider, spoider, spoider…”

“I’ll let you cut me, Yellow. A full two inches. Deep enough to draw lots of the pretty red.”

With a scream Wade trembled, clutched both hands to his ears, and dropped to his knees. “Shut up,” he roared, punching his temple with his gun in hand. “Shutup, shutup, shutup!”

Peter approached with caution and gingerly placed a hand on Wade’s back. “It’s okay, Yellow. You can stop now. Everything’s okay.”

Wade curled, rocking in Peter’s embrace. “Oh, fuck me…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m fine. Saw you coming from a mile away, right?”

The bigger man’s soft sobs tore into Peter so much more fiercely than a bullet ever could. Neither said anything for the longest. Peter let the tide of Wade’s pain recede before asking, “Can I talk to White?”

“He almost got you unalived, baby boy.”

“I know.” The younger man nodded in agreement. “That’s why I wanna talk to him.”

Wade sniffled and swiped at his nose with the back of a hand. Then his agonized expression drew taut. “Run, damn you,” White muttered weakly.

“This is not okay. I thought we were past this. You’re going to promise me you’ll never do that again.”

“I swear, Peter, but you need to get out of here. Please, just please go. I can’t watch you die.”

“Well you damned near arranged it.” Peter rested his head at the crook of his lover’s neck. “What’s up with you and this guy, White?” Once the silence stretched uncomfortably between them, he added, “Might as well tell me. Unless you want to go back to only talking to Wade and Yellow. I can arrange that.”

White drew a much sharper sniffle than Wade had. “I intended to unalive him, but…”

“Oh, you’re the one who tortured him?”

“Well, like I said, planned to take him out.” Still under the box’s control, Wade’s body curled tighter into Peter’s embrace. “He’s bad news. You don’t want to see this. You don’t want any part of it. Peter, please, you need to run. Just go home. We’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll never let you bully me into anything just because I refuse to agree with you. I’m not leaving and that’s final.”

White nodded absently, still rocking at Peter’s gentle pace. “Okay.” Then the sobs broke free with a full, heartbroken wail. “Oh, Peter, you’re in so much danger, and you don’t see it. Please, if there’s anything I can do to change—”

“Too late for that, White. No. I’m here. We’re doing this together.” Peter hummed softly for a bit before adding, “So tell me about this danger. I don’t know much about this X07 stuff, just some things Daredevil said about Madcap.”

“Yeah.” White pulled back, a minute gesture. “If you meet Ty’s gaze, you’ll go crazy for a while. Makes him almost impossible to fight. Yellow, he takes the brunt; leaves Wade immune.”

“That… makes some sense. So all I gotta do is fight blind?”

“Yeah. Well, deaf too. But maybe he doesn’t know that yet.” This time the box offered a watery smile.

“See, I’m reasonable. All ya gotta do is talk to me. Trust me to have your back, to take your concerns into consideration. I won’t do what you say just because you say it, but I’m all hip with the Peter Parker Protection Program™. Right?”

“Yeah.” Finally the strain bled from around White’s crazed eyes. “If you die, remember I told you so.”

“I’ll do that.” Peter continued rocking them, humming softly.

“Peter, we’ve been good at not unaliving people, but you’ve gotta let this happen. He’s too dangerous. Too crazy. Too… much like me.”

“If we can capture him alive, I want to try. But if not, I’ll not hold it against you guys. So long as you let me try to save him. That good enough for you?”

“Yeah.” The word came out absently, as if White’s mind were already a million miles away.

When the body in his arms hardened, Peter rubbed at the tense, corded muscles along Wade’s back. “Hey, Daddy, we got it worked out. You okay?”

“Right as rain, baby boy.” He gave a soft chuckle as he relaxed. “Yellow is completely over the moon and outta line. By the time midnight rolls around he’s gonna be utterly impossible. Ugh, and I’ll never hear Robert Palmer’s ‘Simply Irresistible’ the same again.”

With a snicker Peter pressed his forehead to his lover’s. “Sing it for me?”

“You have terrible taste, and he’s moved on.” Nonetheless Wade joined in: “Might as well face it you’re a dick with a glove.” He chortled. “No, Yellow, it’s not about Michael Jackson.”

Nerves fried, Peter broke down cackling. “Oh, that’s awful! How old is that box, anyway? Like sixty?”

Wade crossed his arms. “I’ll have you know we have no idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, different authors, different ages. I’ve heard this story before.”

“Well it’s true.” He gave an exaggerated huff. “We’re definitely too old for you, baby boy. Feel like I’ve robbed the cradle every time I see that perfect, unlined face.”

“Gimme a few years.” Blushing under the older man’s stare, Peter hid behind his hands and blinked out at his lover. “You are such a perv. I’m old enough to decide who I want in my bed, and that’s as old as I need to be.”

“You’re too good for us.” Wade sobered and watched Peter with wide eyes.

“We’ve gone through this before. No, I’m not; I’m perfect for you. Who else has lived to bitch about you shooting at them?”

Though intended as rhetorical, Wade counted off on his fingers. “Mostly me. But lemme think… There’s Wolvie… Widow… Hulk… Tail Girl, seriously, what’s up with that squirrel tail…? Daredevil… Ms. Marvel… Priscilla…” Distracted by his thoughts, he glanced at his hands, then nodded. “Oh right. Yeah, but you’re the only one I give a shit about.” The words came out so vehement, Peter could hardly bear to hear it.

“One day you’ll see yourself like I see you, and you’ll understand why you should give a shit about yourself. In the meantime take care of my beau, even if it’s only for me.” Peter gave an affectionate tap to his cheek. “And you’re perfect for me. I don’t have to hold back, constantly worried that I’ll kill you on accident. Because even when I did—no matter how bad it sucked for both of us—you came back to me, right?”

“I reckon.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Dammit, Wade, snap out of it. We’re good. I’m not scare—”

“That’s because you’re stupidly fearless, baby boy. If you had any sense, you’d listen to the giant metal cockblock and run for his fatherly embrace. One day I’m gonna be faster than—”

Peter cut the older man off with a tongue down his throat. That tactic might not work so well when the honeymoon was over, but for today Wade melted into his kiss, drinking down Peter’s affection with the urgency of a lost wanderer finding an oasis in the desert.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the final death of me yet, Petey-pie.”

“So you’ve said, big guy. But hopefully not for many decades yet.” _Decades. He said he wanted me for decades. How? Why?_ “You asked if I want a ring?”

“Yeah?” Damaged eyes locked onto Peter’s gaze.

His cheeks grew hot as he admitted, “I do, Wade. I want that ring so bad.”

“Oh?” Wade raised a brow.

“I want to wear your collar at home so you never question that I’m really truly yours. Even when we’re back to me being the top”—he pressed the fire of his face against Wade’s inhumanly warm one—“and your ring when we’re out so everyone knows I want you for the rest of forever.”

“Jeez, baby boy, I almost believe you mean it.” Wade finally cracked his usual smile, his playful demeanor returning.

Peter smacked his shoulder. “Of course I mean it. I said it, didn’t I?”

With a soft chuckle Wade relented, “I reckon so, baby boy, reckon so. You’re crazy for loving me, but damn if you don’t make insanity look good.”

With a smirk of his own, Peter launched into Faydee’s Crazy. “I should've known when you lie to me, lie to me, you made me feel like you were right for me, right for me. And typically you come right back to me, back to me. Something's gotta change; got my heart mixed with my brain. I must be crazy for you.”

“Crazy things I do only for you. No one drives me crazy like you do. I can't stand the thought of you with someone new…” Forehead to forehead, Wade broke off into humming, his smile genuine and warm.

“Love you, Daddy.”

“Oh, you really gotta be crazy in love, baby boy. Cuz you ain’t stupid.”

“Eh, maybe a little stupid. When I’m around you.”

Wade stood, guided them to the bed. “Get some sleep. Then dat ass is all mine—ours, fuck, ours, now can it, you assholes.”

Peter climbed in obediently, not hesitating to flash his marked skin through the back flap. “Dat ass is looking forward to it.”

With the adrenaline crash, Peter fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately. He felt like his head had barely brushed his pillow when Wade roused him from deep in the void. “Uhmmf?”

“Wakay wakey, Petey. Got a text from our Bluebird: ‘Should of stayed w Unc Mike. Please be in Monaco. I think Ty broke my arm. Hurts like hell. Need help.’ I told him we’re on our way. And he sent the coordinates for the boat. Ready to BAMF?”

“Oh, hell, Wade, lemme change.” Peter cracked his eyes to a near-full moon hanging low at the dark horizon.

“Hurry, baby boy. Don’t wanna wind up adrift in the ocean.”

After years of practice with the quick change, Peter took Wade’s hand in less than a minute. “Okay, let’s do this.”

In a blink Peter dropped into the gentle waves of a calm ocean, fifteen feet from the prow of a wooden ship. Half awake, sputtering seawater, and shocked by the chill, he shot a web at the top railing before he succumbed to the teleportation sickness.

***Trigger Warning: Canon Typical Violence from here to the next author’s note***

Five minutes later, he and Wade stood onboard with the terrified former acrobat. Moments before they could BAMF back to the hotel, the kid broke down in hysterical laughter. “Oh, you should see your faces!”

In that second, Wade’s head rolled from his neck, landing at his lover’s feet. When the big man’s body crumpled to the deck, Peter realized exactly how far over his head he was standing.

“Wasn’t planning on Deadpool bringing a friend. Wasn’t expecting he had any.” A man stepped into Peter’s line of sight, unmistakably Ty Priam. “No matter.” He raised his blade again.

Peter blocked his neck with his forearm, earning a bone-deep gash. Heart thrumming he zipped up the mast. Peter had no time for quips; the raging maniac pulled a pistol from his vest. As Peter webbed it from his hand, the major dick reached into his pocket.

“Dammit, stop that!” Peter met the man’s crazed stare as he yanked the second gun from dude’s grip. A floating sensation surged from the pit of his stomach, leaving his mind loopy and disjointed. “Shit, shit, shit!” Peter needed a few seconds to clear his head.

The kid kept laughing as the Greek sent him up the rigging with a knife clamped between his teeth. _More pirate shenanigans._

With no buildings, Peter felt at a distinct disadvantage. The kid managed to dodge two strands of webbing and continue his climb. _Strength and webs._ Peter couldn’t outpace him or outmaneuver him, so he’d have to either web him down or overpower him. Both hard to do one handed.

A bullet whizzed by Peter’s head; Ty had one of Wade’s guns. Damn.

No time to breathe or even think, Peter leapt from one yardarm to the next, barely managing to stay ahead of Adrian while Ty popped off shot after shot. Swinging from a web, he looped around behind Ty before Adrian cut his line. He dropped hard and skidded across the wooden planking, giving his target time to turn.

Landing by Wade’s severed head, he had no time puke at the bloody mess, no moment to mourn the man he loved. If he wanted to survive, he had to get the mercenary into one piece. Just a few seconds together and the big man’s healing factor would kick in.

Peter swallowed his sob and tumbled away from Wade’s body, drawing the duo back to buy himself precious fractions of a second. He had one chance: up and over. He launched from the rail, tucked and rolled, and landed in Yellow’s precious red. Legs around Wade’s waist he held the dead weight steady. Eyes closed, he hardly dared breathe as he felt for the healing to take some of the weight of his beloved’s head from his grasp. “Damned bowling ball, stick, damn you, stick!”

Peter had paused as long as he dared, and he sprung up to a yardarm.

Below him, his adversaries cackled. Ty glared up at him, and Peter turned away. “Only Spider-man would think befriending this buffoon was a good idea. I mean, I’d heard rumors, but to see how the mighty have fallen.”

Meanwhile the Bluebird lived up to the name, virtually flying after Peter, blade still gleaming between his teeth, as dangerous as the madman himself. Peter stayed on the move, never pausing even long enough to locate his foes, only sensing their advance and adjusting his trajectory accordingly.

Until Ty’s laughter cut off mid-yuck.

Peter dared a glance. Wade’s katanas sliced the man into three sections. As Peter watched in repulsed fascination, his lover’s lips cackled with glee. “You stupid sack of shit, don’t you dare hurt our Spider! I told you I’d cut your limbs off until they quit growing back; did you think I was fuckin’ kidding?”

Horrorstruck, Peter didn’t notice the kid slip closer until his spidey sense jerked him from his stupor. White was entirely correct; Peter had no urge to see what he was about to do. Attention locked on Adrian, Peter managed to get a web on the back of his shirt. One yank and he got a second web. The kid was all but cocooned, work that Peter tended while White hacked and cursed.

With the kid secured and the madman fallen to a madder man, Peter slumped atop the cottony mass on the gently rocking deck. Once he webbed the wound on his arm closed, he erected a nice thick mental wall between himself and White’s utter joy.

_And Yellow is worse._

With his wet mask covering his face, no one could see the tears flowing, but his body wracked with obvious sobs. He’d never intended to bear witness to such brutality, but he’d refused to run when White insisted. The fact that this was his own damned fault only brought a cruel pang. He knew Deadpool to be a merciless killer, but he’d never witnessed any destruction like White joyfully dismembering his adversary.

Yet Peter couldn’t really add Ty Priam to the list of people he failed to save. White would have taken the madman’s life eventually, regardless of what Peter did.

Worried now Peter studied the kid he’d saved. Was Adrian experiencing temporary insanity from the madman’s stare, or was he as gone as the man White continued to chop into smaller chunks? Peter had no way to know.

Tossing bits of his victim over his shoulder with little care whether it landed on the deck or in the water, White meticulously sorted half of Ty Priam’s remains into a chest and pushed it overboard. “Better hope I killed you, chuckles.”

***End ***

One final question settled into Peter’s chaotic thoughts: Could he live with himself if he got pulled into Deadpool’s work? Every cell of his being answered with a resounding _no._ He didn’t have to worry about the allure of trading his morality for a mercenary’s wealth; Peter was never meant to become so intimately acquainted with such gruesome deaths.

His stomach seconded that statement, and its remaining contents made a fast exit over the railing.

“You alright, Peter?” White asked in the gentlest voice Peter had ever heard from either box.

“Yeah. Just, um, proved you right, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to be right.” Sheepish and drawn with worry, the box reached out slowly, giving Peter time to shirk from his bloody hands if the touch were unwelcome. “I want you to be okay. Are you?”

“Yeah.” Peter wiped his mouth as he collected his thoughts. “I just hadn’t expected this job to go south so fast.”

In a rare tender moment, White pulled Peter close. “Neither did I.”

Peter could hear the _I told you so_ but allowed the blood-drenched man to comfort him. “Thank you for letting me make my own mistakes.”

“I didn’t actually let you. But I will.” He gestured to the cubed mess on the deck behind them. “You’re too precious for this shit, but I’m sorry for trying to force you.”

“’S alright, White. I get it. And I’ll quit letting my stubborn pride make my decisions.”

“You won’t but at least you’re thinking. That’s enough” White nodded against Peter’s back. “You’re okay; I promise you’re okay.”

Peter sniffled. “I guess it had to be done, but necessary doesn’t make something right or good.”

Adrian bucked in his web cocoon. “Get the fuck offa me, dammit! What the hell happened here? And why is Spider-man here? Wade, what did you do, kidnap him?”

White cackled. “You got a taste of the cosmic banana peel. And your tender young ears aren’t ready for the beautiful insanity of what Spidey and I do together. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.”

“Ew, dammit, Wade, knock it off and cut me outta here. Fuck, my arm hurts so much worse now. What the hell happened?”

“Your _chum_ over there gave you the crazies, kiddo. Looks like you’re recovering just fine, but we’re taking no chances.”

Before Peter could protest, White BAMFed them to a posh residence where Peter promptly puked thin bile into a potted plant. “No more.”

“One more.”

“Oh, no, not even for Cap’s shield. No, let’s just walk home.”

“Hah! No can do, Pe-er, Mr. Spider-man. We’re going back and enjoying that adorable little hotel roof.”

“Ew, TMI!” Adrian stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. “TMI, TMI, TMI! Bring me the brain bleach!”

“Oh, chill out, kid. Soon as your Uncle Mike pays us, we’re outta your hair.” White’s manic smile left Peter feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was the transporter.

Either way, Peter swayed on his feet.

A tanned, white-haired man rounded the corner. “Ah, Mr. Wilson, glad to see you had no trouble bringing Adrian home again. Oh, Spider-man, what an honor!” He nodded to Peter before turning back to White. “I trust you find the two million dollars I transferred to your account adequate compensation?”

“Uh, yeah, buddy, just fine?” White cut the webbing, freeing the young mutant. “Um, I think I recall something about his arm—?”

“That creep broke my arm! I mean, I knew he was a perv, a real freaky-deaky, but I never expected him to rough me up like that!”

White snagged Peter’s elbow. “Let’s get outta—” they materialized in the loggia “—here.”

“My stomach!” Peter dry heaved over the chamber pot, just in case something remained to hork up. “Did you hafta take me to deliver the kid?”

“Rather stay with the cubed douche?” White’s cackle cut off abruptly.

A softer gaze blinked out at Peter. “What’d I miss?”

“White hacked that dude into tiny bits, then BAMFed us over half of creation to deliver the kid and get back here.”

Wade rubbed his neck absently. “Don’t particularly mind that White unalived that asshole. One Madcap’s plenty more than enough.”

“He was right; I really did not want to see that. It was brutal.”

Massaging circles along Peter’s back, Wade cooed, “Aw, Petey-wheatie, was it all grossy-wossy?”

“Damned right, it was.” He leaned into his lover’s arms. “I gotta quit being more stubborn than smart.”

“Nah. Stubborn opens more doors.” Wade crinkled his nose as he booped Peter’s. “’Sides we like you just how you are.”

“Thanks. I think.” Peter let his head sink against Wade’s chest. “May I go lay your boy down now?” His soft giggle showed a welcome vulnerability to his lover’s intense games. “Daddy?”

Wade smoothed his salt-crusted hair from his forehead. “Get back in your pjs, and I’ll lie with you until you fall back asleep, baby boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter grinned, glad to be back with Wade for now.

Peter woke to the sun high in the Riviera sky. He never slept more than a few hours unless he was sick. Did transporter sickness count?

“Wade?”

A dark shape stepped through an archway. “Right here, Petey-pie.”

“You sleep any?”

“Nah, baby boy. Not feeling it.” Wade’s voice carried a dullness that worried Peter. “Just chasing down Dicky’s supplier.”

_And the rest of his customers._ Peter didn’t want to know for certain, so he ignored his questions. People would die—people he couldn’t save—but he’d learned to accept that knowledge at least enough to function. Barely.

He climbed from the bed to get a sense of what might be wrong. “Rough night?” The bigger man’s scars weren’t horrible, but they weren’t closed either. “Skin bothering you?”

“You’re bothering me, baby boy.” The words came tight and hard, like he almost choked on them.

“What? How? I haven’t moved in hours.”

Wade turned from him. “Never should have played out like that.”

“What shouldn’t? Wade, talk to me.”

“I fuckin’ shot at you, Peter. White had me thinkin’—”

Peter took his’s sweetheart’s hand and kissed across the knuckles. “It’s okay. For you it’s normal, and I don’t expect different.”

Disgust settled in hard sneer across Wade’s features. “Well maybe you fuckin’ should.”

“Well maybe I fuckin’ don’t. So maybe the shoulds don’t fuckin’ matter. Ever think about that?” Despite his cutting words, Peter clutched Wade’s hand, unwilling to let the bigger man escape his grasp. “I have what I want, and I’ll fight you, White, Yellow, and anyone or anything else that tries to take you from me.”

“Why?” Desolate haunted eyes scanned Peter’s.

“You make me less afraid—”

A harsh bark of mirthless laughter cut over his words. “You should be terrified.”

“—of dying alone.” Peter shook his head in negation. “Wade, I didn’t _almost_ kill you; I caved in your skull.” That old familiar guilt closed in around his heart, squeezing until he thought it’d pop.

“Yeah, but if you die, you’re gone.”

Those words brought a surge of anger, enough to push back against his shame. He held up a finger, asking Wade to pause while he took deep breaths to calm himself. “I _hurt_ you. Just because you’re immortal, that doesn’t mean your pain doesn’t matter.”

Wade shrugged, an assurance that his pain had never mattered to anyone, not even himself.

“Don’t you understand? I killed the man I love.”

Anguish washed over Wade’s open expression. “Peter, if I kill the man I love, you won’t be right back! Won’t be anyone to comfort me! I’ll kill myself until I forget, and I never want to forget you!”

“I know that, but every love story becomes a tragedy eventually.” Peter sighed as he selected a different tact. “Don’t you think whatever time we have together is worth any price? Even the misery that comes after? Because I’m all-in, Wade. Even if we break each other’s hearts a million times. Even if you kill without a second thought while I can’t shake the guilt of the ones I can’t save. Even if I die and you don’t. Despite every undeniable fact, I’m willing to pay whatever toll the universe demands.”

“Shouldn’t be.” An ominous tone laced Wade’s broody reply. “’M not worth it.”

“Well, neither am I, yet here we are.” Maybe Peter didn’t run himself down so overtly, but his failures capered at the edge of his consciousness. He didn’t even want to think about them.

Wade’s stricken, wounded expression conveyed such broken vulnerability. “Oh, baby boy, you’re worth everything!”

“Nope.” Peter popped the p. “’M not.” He barely managed to shake off the urge to throttle his boyfriend. “Wade, ’m no more important than you are. My only wish is to live my life how I see fit. Instead of dying a coward and a liar, too afraid to let anyone get close.” A tide of fear, loneliness, and affection threatened to swallow Peter whole. “Damn you, stop pushing me away. Don’t abandon me for my own good; you can’t save me from myself.”

The bigger man crossed his arms. “My healing factor is the only reason you looked at me twice after that sex pollen.”

Finally, the core of the issue. Or at least Peter hoped it was.

Emotions running high and patience running thin—_damn do I need coffee before dealing with this emotional shit—_Peter mirrored his boyfriend’s stance. “’S not my only reason—you’re charming and sweet and funny and amazing in bed—and those muscles you work so hard for? They’ve always revved my engine—but so what if I take comfort in your healing factor? Why are you worrying about what made me delve deeper?”

Wade’s brows drew together. “Don’t want you settling just because you can’t kill me.”

All the stress around Peter’s heart shattered, and he couldn’t stop his harsh cackle, the sound echoing with cruelty in his mind. “Oh, I’m not settling. I promise you that. No one’s willing to set the world on fire just to keep a convenient bedwarmer.” A wave of heat settled across his cheeks. “And the things I’d do to keep you for mine? I’d sacrifice it all: Spider-man, Peter Parker, responsibilities, morals. I’d do whatever it took. Things that’d leave Yellow stunned. Repulsed. Nauseated.”

“No, baby boy, no, I don’t need that, don’t want it. Can’t live with myself it if I destroy everything that makes you so special. Please, baby boy, don’t even say shit like that.”

“Then don’t make me do shit like that. Stay.” Peter let his arms fall to his side and gazed up in pure adoration. “This has been the hardest and best year of my life; I don’t want to go back to tackling every challenge alone. I can—I have—did everything myself for so many years—but I enjoy my life so much more with you at my side.”

Fixated on the nothingness of the near distance, Wade cocked his head, listening closely. After a minute his attention approached Peter but never fully settled on him. “Yeah. We like our life better with you in it.” Blinking back tears he reached for Peter’s hand. “No matter when the After Peter comes, we’ll never be ready.”

“Hmph, you and White seem mighty convinced I’ll be the death of you.”

A quick flash of a weak, joyless smile and Wade turned his back. “That’s a wishful fantasy and we both know it.”

“But love isn’t. It’s real. And necessary.” As Peter considered the loves Wade would take in an eternity, a bitter and jealous pain croaked from him. “You think I’m one in a million?”

Wade hung his head. “…More like one in a billion. There’s no one else like you.”

“There’s hundreds, prob’ly thousands, but let’s say you’re right, and there’s only eight who’d love you as much as I do. When the times comes, mourn. Mourn as much and as long as you need. But after that, go find love again. Promise me.”

He turned back to gape incredulously. “Petey, I could never—”

“No, Wade, you have to risk your heart again once I’m gone. The cruelest lie is that we only get one true love. Hundreds of people would gladly be yours if you let them, and I will never take that from you. Not even in your own mind. I despise the idea of you spending untold lifetimes alone, breaks me in ways nothing else could.”

“Twue wove…” His quip died before it fully formed.

“Twue wove.” A sad sigh escaped Peter. “But I plan to be at your side for a long time to come.”

“Yeah? How’d a shitstain like me get so lucky?”

“Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that.” Faking disdain with a snort, Peter sidled close enough to ensnare the bigger man’s ankle with a foot. “And I just told you. You’re smart, funny, sexy. You just want me to repeat how amazing you are.”

“Yeah.” Wade flashed a million-watt smile, his teeth perfect in the ruin of his face. “I love hearing it. Sometimes I even think you believe it.”

With a light shove Peter pulled his lover off balance and followed him to the floor. The younger man smirked in challenge. “So I guess we’ll see if you’re as indestructible as you think you are. In the meantime…” He twined his limbs around his lover and leaned close to the shell of the big man’s ear, ensuring the ex-merc heard the sincere desire in his hushed whisper, “Your boy needs correction.”

The older man regarded him with a surprised but pleased quirk to his lips. “You know how to get the party started, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”


	14. Day 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yellow gets to play.

When midnight arrived Peter sat dressed to kill, alone on the bed. Wade lit out an hour before, giggling with his boxes.

Thirty minutes later a hotel clerk knocked on the hatch, saying “I have a package here for Peter?” Inside the gift boxes, tied in a stack, the younger man found a fabulous black silk cocktail dress, which screamed of Diane’s taste for glitz, along with a pair of simple leather pumps, back-seamed fishnet stockings studded with clear rhinestones, the slinkiest lace lingerie, a small makeup bag, and a few oversized pieces of silvery jewelry with electric-blue gems, including a plug so large Peter wondered if it would fit. This black ensemble had a formal air that defied what Peter had come to expect from Yellow, but when he checked himself in the mirror, he’d never found his own form more desirably packaged.

A few minutes ago, room service brought up a dozen covered dishes, along with a note in Wade’s perfect schoolboy script on hotel stationary: “No peeking! Be my good boy and wait. Yellow will be there soon.” He’d drawn their masks inside a heart and signed it, “With Much Love, Big Daddy Wade.”

So, amused but anxious, Peter restrained his curiosity until another knock summoned him to the hatch. Not bothering to question who might be on the other side, he raised the door.

A vicious, cocky instrumental rocked from Wade’s phone. Wearing a simple black-on-red tuxedo and a rakish grin, his boyfriend peered up. In an erudite British accent, he said, “Peter Galore, so nice to finally meet you. Name’s Box, Yellow Box.”

Playing along, Peter tittered. “Ah, Mr. Box, I’ve been expecting you. Please, do come in. Though I hope you won’t think less of a girl for meeting with you in his private quarters.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Yellow assured as he climbed into the loggia. Grin feral, pleasure ripped from him like madness spreading under a full moon.

Peter glanced up and realized, indeed, the moon hung full and brilliant in a velvet midnight sky. In that moment the younger man felt so utterly unfettered and more than a little crazed. “Do you like wild things, Mr. Box?”

“Wild? Anything so untamed should roam uncaged as well.”

“Oh?” Peter laughed as he lifted his skirt and slid his panties to midthigh. “And are you the man with the key?”

“I have many keys.” The pulled the necklace from his shirt to reveal the key to Peter’s lock. “But this one I hold dearest.” Their game painfully corny and excruciatingly endearing, Yellow unlocked his cage and tossed it into a corner. “We won’t be needing that today.”

“We won’t?” Peter struggled to keep a straight face. “So what will we need?”

“You and me and my martini makes three.” Yellow stepped toward the dresser, where the dishes sat. When Peter took a step to follow, he waggled a finger at the younger man. “Unh-uh-uh, you shouldn’t go sneaking up behind a box with that loaded weapon. You stay right there, Mr. Galore.”

“As you desire… Mr. Box.”

Yellow lifted a cover just high enough to peak under the dome, and repeated the process until he found the one he wanted. Four drinks nestled there, two martinis and two cocktails layered in red and blue with an icy swirl of white frost over the top.

“May I offer you a drink, Mr. Galore?”

Peter chortled softly. “I think I’d like that very much, Mr. Box. May I call you Yellow?”

“As often and as vhem’ntly as you’d like.” Yellow flashed his razor-edged grin, passing a cocktail to the younger man. “My name sounds good on your tongue.”

After taking a fruity, burning sip, the smaller man chuckled. “Oh? And here I thought tongues were for tasting.”

“Sometimes they simply make you a cunning linguist.” Yellow drained his drink, stripped the olive from the toothpick, and placed the empty back on the tray. When the playlist moved to a waltz, he drifted closer and held out a hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Sounds delightful but I don’t know how.” With an ingenue’s flutter of long, darkened lashes, Peter set his drink on the dresser and accepted his lover’s hand regardless.

“Follow my lead. You can do that; can’t you?” Yellow nudged the younger man into motion, and the world spun around them as they glided over the large, nearly empty space. Yellow’s hand traveled lower to cup his rear and pull the smaller man taut against his half-erect penis. “See, it’s not so hard.”

“I had expected it would be harder.” Peter blushed furiously at his own idiotic double entendre.

“It does get harder as we go along.” Pulling Peter through a quick spin and dip, Yellow guided the younger man’s knee up his outer thigh with a suave smirk, never once breaking character. “Your lips are enchanting. May I kiss them?”

Peter’s heart fluttered. “Mr. Box, we hardly know each other. What will people say?”

“Why, Mr. Galore, they’ll say I’m the luckiest box in the world.”

Yellow’s kiss started so chaste that the younger man struggled to figure how he found himself with his weight on one leg, bent backward nearly to the floor, while the box cradled his shoulders and head, kissing so deep he could feel a tug at his soul. Yellow raised him upright and set the world spinning again, leaving Peter so lightheaded, thoughtless giggles bubbled from him.

Showcasing Wade’s meticulous planning, Yellow’s dramatic flair, and White’s unyielding perfectionism, this idea, executed so smoothly, must have taken all three of them the entire week to prepare. That fact alone left Peter thunderstruck since those three constantly bickered, never agreeing on anything.

Nothing except Peter.

Once the waltz drew to a close, Yellow reached out as if to take his partner’s hand for a dignified kiss across the knuckles. Instead, perfectly straight faced, he hefted Peter’s cock and balls through his clothing. “We’ll have to do this again. You dance divinely.”

Throbbing from the unexpected contact against his oversensitized flesh, the younger indeed followed his lead, returning the gesture. “Mr. Box, you flatter me.”

With a wink Yellow replied, “You don’t fool me—Peter—the right compliment leaves your panties wet.”

“How can you be so sure—Yellow—when you haven’t checked for yourself?”

The box eased the younger man’s skirt-tail up, over his hips. “Is that an invitation?”

“Would you like it to be?” Peter challenged, even as the wet spot in question came into view.

“Very much so.” On one knee Yellow huffed a warm breath through the damp silk lace. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

At the erotic slide of silk, Peter tossed his head back, his breath coming in short, urgent pants. The pulse between his legs grew expectant, but he refused to voice his needs, not until his desire became an overwhelming, untamable force. With Yellow slipping his panties down his legs, appearing so long and toned in the carefully selected stockings, the smaller man had no doubt he’d be begging soon enough.

The first lick was a taste of ecstasy, an intense pleasure assuring more and better was yet to come. Peter couldn’t stop the desolate groan that leaked from him. His heart rumbled like thunder in his chest, a warning of the storm that approached. Every vital organ knew savage joys awaited him, and each sat primed for his unmaking.

“Such an eager little slut for me,” Yellow hissed, low with menace. “Seems your body’s already aching for my special attention.”

Peter couldn’t deny the truth. “Yes, Yellow.”

“Not like that. Scream it for me.”

With his lover’s hard hands crushing his hips, the grip so hard his bones ached, Peter raised his face to the ceiling, drew a deep breath, and obeyed: “Ye-e-es, Ye-e-ello-o-ow!”

“Oh, fuck me; that’s better than I imagined.” He squeezed harder, ensuring it hurt, as he continued in a whisper only Peter’s enhanced senses could possibly detect. “When I’m done, not even your Daddy’s gonna recognize the ruin I leave behind.”

Yellow jerked and whimpered. In a defensive whine, he protested, “I’m not, but our Petey doesn’t have to know that…! Fine…! Good…! Fine, now fuck off and let me do my thang.”

At the box’s sudden pique, Peter couldn’t stifle his soft laugh.

“Funny is it? You think I’m joking?” Danger blinked up at him with such dark promise.

“No, Yellow.” Before the box could complain, he corrected himself, “No-o-o, Ye-e-ello-o-ow!”

“Oh, you are perfection personified. I’m gonna write sonnets about this night while I paint our mind white.”

“You can remember how to write sonnets?” Peter asked, not entirely certain if he were teasing or serious.

“Sonnets, gangster rap, what’s the difference?”

“A few hundred years?”

Before Peter could add a nervous chuckle, Yellow shot a forearm between his legs, clutched his thigh, and hoisted him over a shoulder. “No, not that long, I can’t wait another second.” He tossed the younger man onto the bed as he pulled his favored skinning knife and an alcohol wipe from his inner jacket pocket.

Though Peter had known this moment was coming, the gleaming blade stole his breath.

”Spread those legs, my little fuck toy. What did White call it? Sublime?” Yellow shook his head violently. “Okay, supine. Dammit, you two don’t hafta watch me like a hawk every damned second…! Fine, I’ll ask. Like a good box. Now quit ’copter parentin’ before I rebel all over Mommy and Daddy’s perfect little prince.” He leaned down to press a kiss high inside Peter’s thigh. “Right here. Is this okay? Cuz that’s exactly where I wanna spill all that luscious red.”

Peter licked his lips, fighting down his panic. “Will you take it slow? Let me get used to the idea?”

“Mmm, fuck yeah, cut ya real slow, boy.” He smiled up with malicious glee.

Though wary Peter decided he’d take it. “Will you stop if I ask?”

A pout dimmed the fire of Yellow’s passion. “I guess. I don’t wanna but I will.”

One more question to put this off a few seconds longer. “And you’ll cut the skin but not the muscle, right?”

“You know how to suck the fun outta everything, doncha? Yeah. I’ll be good. Damn, so fuckin’ good your knees’ll quake every time you think about me. Just let me at that red.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded, assuring himself more than Yellow that this would be fine. “Yeah, do it.” He worried his bottom lip as he awaited the sting.

Yellow swabbed down his chosen location, leaving a chill in his wake. Then he cleaned the blade. With the tip of his fine-honed knife poised to break Peter’s skin, the box issued a low grumble. “Dammit, I know how big two inches is. Seriously, fuck off, Whitey.” As skilled as a surgeon he made a shallow swipe and watched the crimson beads rise. “How’s that, Petey?”

Should he admit he hardly felt a thing? Though it seemed unwise, he stuck with the truth. “I barely noticed.”

“Good. Not a lot of nerves here.” His oversized lover snorted. “Oh, don’t worry, boy; you’ll cry for me. Later. When you’re all pent up. Big, pretty tears cuz mean ol’ Yellow hurt you so fuckin’ bad.”

With one finger under the bigger man’s chin, Peter guided Yellow’s ear right to his lips. Breathy, he whispered, “Tha-a-ank yo-o-ou, Ye-e-ello-o-ow.”

“Da-a-a-a-amn.” That big body trembled as his eyes fluttered closed. “Yeah, those two assholes are right. If anything’s gonna shock our heart and stop it forever, it’s you.” He scrambled to his feet and ripped open his pants. “Oh, that’s better.” He grabbed his shirt and jacket and pulled. A spray of buttons peppered Peter. Then the box blinked down at the clawed clothing clinging to his body. “Damn, and I liked that tux. But it got way too snug all the sudden.”

Peter grinned up at the most impulsive version of his love. “May I remove this little black dress, or did you want to rip it off too?”

With a growl Yellow grabbed the neckline. A single heave rent the dress to the hem and absolutely demolished the lacy bra underneath. “Mmm, such a shame, but it had to be done.” His leer wandered over Peter’s moon-pale skin taking special interest in the dark marks he’d already left. “I’ll never get tired of ruining you, hurting you, fucking you, and making you beg me for more.”

A hot flush ran down Peter’s chest. “More, Yellow, please, I want so much more,” he whispered.

“I can slice deep enough to count this time?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Yellow fished a handful of alcohol packets from his demolished jacket. After untucking Peter’s arm from his lumbar, the box placed them in the younger’s hand, folding his fingers over them to ensure they stayed in his grasp. “Good boy, my lovely precious slut.” He stripped bare before climbing into the bed and settling between Peter’s wide-spread legs. After taking one of the packets, he ripped it open and pulled the pad from inside. With a sharp, vicious smile, he patted along the thin red line he’d cut in Peter’s thigh.

A familiar fire radiated from the wound, and Peter groaned at the urgent sting.

“That’s right, hurt for me, boy.” Yellow cackled softly, obviously pleased with the effect. “You ready to bleed, my little cocksleeve?”

Peter marveled at the way his own erection strained, not deterred by such cruelty in the least. “Make me bleed, my bittersweet Yellow box. So good for me.”

Bashful at the praise, he turned from Peter and shielded his face. “No fair making me blush when I’m ready to slice-n-dice, you infernal slut.”

“I know.” Peter kissed his nose. “But I adore you. Even your bloodthirst.”

One quadriceps spasmed and rippled. “Oh, I’m gonna cut ya alright.” The knife sank faster and deeper than Peter expected. “Look’t all that red.” Total awe spiked the words.

With a finger Yellow smeared blood along the younger man’s inner thigh. Head bobbing, he rose to his knees, gave one hard thrust into the air. “Not yet, not yet, lemme at least get it in him.” Instead he gasped and shuddered as he came over the smaller man’s stomach.

Betrayed, the box glared down at Wade’s cock. “Seriously, you trigger-happy fuck stick? I knew you were picking on them, but I thought we were buds.” One glance at Peter’s bit-lipped smirk, and Yellow’s evil smile fell back into place. “Oh, amused that we came untouched?”

Once Peter could release his lip from his teeth without laughing outright, he replied, “Yes, Yellow.”

“Then someone’s not coming for hours yet. And it obviously ain’t me. Now go get cleaned up; can’t have our naughty little slut splashed down like a comedumpster during the nice meal your box has planned.”

Peter swung his legs from the bed and stood.

“Not like that; crawl for me, boy. And keep those shoulders low; I wanna see that diamond flash as you slink away.”

Peter raised his head. “Um, diamond? This isn’t costume jewelry?”

“Whitey says that’s twen’ny grand in platinum and brilliant-cut, lab-grown diamonds.”

Peter couldn’t imagine how large the stone decorating his ass must be. “The ruined dress?”

“Meh, just twelve hundred bucks. Kinda had a feeling I might get a bit… impatient.” Yellow smacked his boyfriend hard enough to leave a raging, stinging handprint on his ass. “Ooh, me likey-likey that hard ass strikey. Bring me them glorious globes of glutes. And don’t you dare even think of standing.”

“Yes, Yellow.” After using the ruined dress to wipe away most of the mess from his stomach, Peter crawled after his boyfriend.

Yellow took a seat on the vanity chair, as both wingbacks had high arms. “Between my legs. Hips on my thigh. Mmm, fuck, such an obedient slut for me.”

“Thank you, Yellow.”

“Now tell me what you want, little cocksucker.” The box reached between the man’s legs to fondle him gently.

Peter blocked out reality as he pleaded in a shattered whisper, “Hurt me.”

Not bothering with the paddle, Yellow set a grueling pace that instantly brought Peter to bawling. None the three of them had ever ramped up the punishment so hard or so fast. Each strike sank to the paired bones under the heavy musculature. Tears matched the sobs that poured from the smaller man, unfettered by pride or decorum. He wanted to beg Yellow to stop, but he couldn’t justify such weakness despite the box’s brutal affection.

The staccato rhythm jerked to a halt.

“What?” Yellow snapped in irritation. Softer, he replied, “Oh.” He caressed the fire he’d built along Peter’s backside. “Maybe a little too much.” Anger rumbled deep in his throat.

As the box grew more petulant and agitated, Peter slumped, thankful for the interruption. After several sessions harder than average, he allowed himself to sob in misery rather than try to mitigate their battle. When Yellow took Peter’s wrists, the younger man realized he’d been rubbing the hellacious sting.

“At least I didn’t let that fucktard talk me into shooting him.”

That barbed shot proved the last straw; Peter yanked his hands free and shot to his feet, ready to repeat their most frequent argument. Fighting to keep his temper in check, voice gentle, he said, “No, Yellow, nobody gets to mention that but me. Nobody.”

Yellow gave him the same betrayed glare he’d given their penis. “But I saved you—”

“Yeah, you did. Thank you. You saved my life, a true fact, Yellow, and I’m grateful. So very grateful.” He caressed his lover’s face, letting the box burrow into the affection. “I am so, so thankful for you. So glad you managed to stop that rampage. But who’s usually the one on a rampage?”

That question made Yellow flinch. “Me.” His voice came out small and pained.

Peter knelt down to his level and brushed their cheeks together. “And do you like it when Wade or White uses one of your mistakes as a weapon? Particularly one that makes you feel really bad?”

“No,” came his bare squeak of an answer.

“I don’t like someone making you feel bad either. It hurts me a lot worse than having my ass trounced, right?”

“Yeah.” Yellow blinked up into Peter’s dry, tear-stung eyes, still unsure where this was going.

“It always hurts me when you, White, or Wade hurt. And the more one of you hurt, the more my heart breaks. Because I love you,” Peter explained. Again. For what must have been the millionth time. But he really liked being able to have this discussion with Yellow directly this time. Maybe engaging the box more fully would bypass his anterograde amnesia.

“Oh.” The box fell silent as it worked through Peter’s explanation.

Peter had to agree with White: Yellow indeed had less processing capacity than his lover’s other personalities. But that boiled down to what parts of their brain the box could access. The hippocampus, a particularly fragile and energy-hungry portion of the limbic system, obviously existed outside the amnesiac box’s range. All emotion Yellow had a certain naïve charm, which Peter adored, probably the only reason he could keep repeating himself without losing either his mind or his temper.

“So I hafta be nice when you can hear me, so I don’t hurt you a lot more than them, right?”

“Close.” Peter kissed and nuzzled along his temple. “So very close, my good, sweet Yellow box. I don’t want any of you to hurt at all, so what do I not want you to do?”

“You don’t want me to hurt them? But, no fair, that’s how I made the meatsuit stop shooting.”

“I know, but if it isn’t a matter of life or death, I’d be really happy if you didn’t do anything to Wade or White that you wouldn’t want them to do to you.”

“Oh!” Yellow finally lost the confused slackness as he considered the ramifications of that statement. “Oh, so I need to always think about you before I tell one of them to go to hell.”

Peter nodded. _Close enough. We’ll be having this discussion again in a few weeks._

“On your knees, boy.” Though Yellow growled the words, he trailed off humming U2’s Mysterious Ways. “He moves with it; he moves me like—lift my days and light up my nights—love.”

“…You can remember lyrics.” Peter grinned. How had he not noticed the significance of that before?

Yellow tilted his head. “Yeah? So?”

“So when I need something to stick in your mind, all I have to do is set it to a catchy tune.”

“Oh.” A pleased grin slowly dawned over Yellow’s confusion. “Hey, that might work!”

Fond, happy, Peter settled to sit on his feet. “So where were we?”

“’M hungry.” He patted Peter’s head as he stood. “You stay right here. Whitey says we had a reader special request to hand feed you again. And never let it be said that we ain’t obliging.”

The sheer earnest faith Yellow placed in White’s fantasy left an echo of eyes on Peter. In damply soiled panties, fishnets, and suspender garters, with his lover’s drying ejaculate smeared over his abs, he flushed, self-conscious, shamed by the thought of this pure debasement being made public.

Yellow returned to the chair with a platter of fruit dipped in dark chocolate and drizzled with white. He selected a strawberry, swirled it through a footed bowl of whipped cream, and took a bite before offering the remainder to Peter.

The smaller man’s tongue guided the fruit to his mouth, and he savored the delicious burst of sweet. “Yellow?”

“What is it, little cockhound?”

“The rhinestones on these stockings are digging into my shins. May I ask White to remind you to let me stand every so often so I get a break in the agony?”

“Nah, we don’t need that fuck—er, piece of—um, bad box? Whatever. On your fingers and toes, fuck toy.”

“Yes, Yellow.” In the modified plank position, the pain disappeared from his shins even as pins and needles shot down his calves. He watched Yellow take another nibble from a plump berry, then hold it out for the younger man. Mouth open and eyes closed, sweet juice burst across his tongue again, making him groan in pleasure. “Thank you, Yellow. Um, you seem a little subdued. Everything okay?”

“Hmph, they’re breathing down my neck.”

“Want me to ask them to leave us alone for a while?”

“Oh, fuck no, I wanna feel them turn green as Hulk.” He leaned down at a near impossible angle to smear whipped cream over Peter’s lips and lick it away before the smaller man could. “So jealous. I love it.” His second lick strayed between Peter’s teeth to swirl over the younger’s tongue. “Kills ’em that I can play your body better’n they ever could.”

“Yellow, you aren’t taunting them, are you?”

A crooked and cruel smile flashed in his narrowed field of vision. “Don’t gotta. You’re doin’ it just fine.”

“Ugh, I really didn’t want to know that.” Peter had no idea of what to do about it. Another bite of fruit nudged his lips, turned out to be pineapple.

“I don’t like this.”

Peter raised a surprised brow.

“I don’t have enough access to your body and the food’s too far away.”

With a snicker, Peter accepted that the box hadn’t turned altruistic when he wasn’t paying attention.

Yellow stood. “Hands in the seat, so I can feel dat hot ass.” Once Peter obeyed, his lover prodded his bruising, making him wince. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous wearing my marks.” He put on a sultry playlist. “Bend those knees; your Daddy don’t want ’em locked. And open up those legs a little more…” Tapping the massive plug, Yellow reached between his thighs to stroke him to a full erection. He pushed Peter’s back into a deep sway. “Oh, yeah, much better. Don’t move a muscle.”

“Yes, Yellow.” Peter held still, exposed and primed.

The box moved to the food. He hummed along to Earl as he filled a plate. “Baddabing baddaboom badda boom boom boom…” A thick meaty scent floated on the air. “Yeah…? Do I remember what…? Ooh, our boy’ll like that on the venison.”

Their boy chuckled as the shattered parts of Wade cooperated to meet the single goal of overwhelming the younger man’s senses. A savory note joined the rich scents that had Peter’s mouth watering. Yellow settled beside him, sitting Indian style with the plate in his lap. Bare fingered he took a warm bite of meat, dipped it in a sauce, and bit it in half. While he ate his own portion, he held the rest to Peter’s lips.

Tone neutral Yellow muttered, “Okay… Yeah, I’ll tell him.” As he offered a second bite, he recited, “Venison in Cumberland Sauce.”

Peter nodded his appreciation as he chewed the delectable nibble. “Thank you, Yellow.”

In silence Yellow continued sharing the meat until no more remained on their plate, though Peter would more expect White to consume one food at the time. Presumably the other two personalities remained close, but they seemed to be moving in congruence. Made sense, he supposed; they’d planned this together after all.

“Hominy and cauliflower fried in herbed butter.”

Warm grease brushed Peter’s lips and dribbled down his chin, and he opened up for the next decadent flavor. _Sooo not disappointed._ He moaned at the sheer buttery indulgence.

“Chef’s specialty accordin’ to your Daddy.”

Peter could have sobbed when they ran out of the corn fritter. But he also knew Wade, which meant that wouldn’t be the tastiest item.

“Water crackers and fresh mozzarella.”

Peter accepted the first bite but found it a bit dry. “May I have some water, please?”

“Shit, shit, shit.” Yellow scrambled to his feet. “Well neither of you noticed either.” He came back with a stemmed glass. “Head up, boy… I know not to drown him!” Yellow tipped the glass at Peter’s lips and let a sip flow into his mouth. “See. I’m not an idiot.”

“Fig-olive tapenade on sweet potato crisp.”  
“Tomato bisque with rosemary and basil. Heh, in shot glasses no less.”  
“Romano stuffed mushrooms in the house oyster sauce.”  
“Mint sorbet? Why…? Oh. Open wide, Petey, a lil’ something to cleanse that pate.”  
“Flatiron steak. Fuck yeah, now we’re talkin’.”

Yellow kept bringing bites of new and interesting foods. The wildly shifting flavor profiles left a distinct impression that Yellow had gotten some of the courses out of order, but Peter couldn’t possibly care less.

For the first time this night, the younger man raised a hand and announced, “Please, Yellow, no more.” He had a feeling he’d be repeating that frequently for the next 24 hours.

“Your Daddy says to tempt you into tasting the crème brûlée. Because Whitey says it’s world famous.”

Peter chuckled, helpless against their combined charm. “Okay, a taste.”

Swiping caramel and custard from a ramekin with two fingers, Yellow stood behind Peter. The big man leaned over the smaller’s back to let him lap at the sticky dessert. In Peter’s ear the box made dark promises. “That’s right, fuckboy; lick me clean. The instant you’re done, I’m gonna ram our cock so deep into your poor delicate body that you’re gonna think I’ve ripped you in half.”

Moaning, Peter wrapped his tongue around those fingers, seeking any trace of sweet that might remain.

“You like it when I hurt you, boy?”

“Yes, Yellow. Fuck, yes, so much. I hate how much I love the way you make me scream.”

The box moved fast to yank the plug from Peter, drop it to the floor already wrapped in a tissue. And as promised, Peter screamed, agonized by the harsh, rapid stretch of his rim. It fluttered and spasmed in protest as Yellow shoved in to the hilt, much to the box’s delight.

“Yel—oh, holy fuck—Yellow…?” Peter forgot what he wanted to say.

“Scream for me.” A hand tangled in his hair and jerked his head back in time with their frenetic coupling. “Scream my name, boy.”

“Yellow!”

“Louder.” A cruel smack landed on his heated ass. “Scream for me, you desperate slut.”

“Ye-e-ello—” a second hard slap brought his voice up two octaves “—O—OW!”

“Boy, if you can’t scream my name in pleasure, you’ll scream it in pain!”

“YE—!” Flesh ripping and tearing around his hip joint, Yellow’s savagery brought a startled screech of agony. “YE—E—EL—LO—O—OW!” Peter’s voice dropped to a strained whisper. “Fuck, please, Yellow, no more; please stop.” He didn’t want to scream pineapple as well, but he might not have a choice.

The box growled from behind Peter, a feral sound that made the younger man quake in his hellish grasp. “Fuckin’ party poopers. Fine.” He released Peter’s tortured hip and the crane on his neck. “But we all know he coulda screamed louder and higher. If you two’d’ve let me make him.” Sullen he added, “Really wanted people to yell for ’im to shut up.”

That actually made a lot of sense in Yellow logic. Peter struggled for a song to explain why the box shouldn’t drag strangers into their game. “Hey, Yellow, what’s a song about enthusiastic consent?”

“Get a Yes by Sad13?”

“So did you get a yes from all the people you wanted to yell at me?”

“No…” The box’s thrusts stopped dead. “But you said yes, right, Petey?”

“Yes, Yellow. I said yes then and I’m saying yes now.” Peter gave a hearty laugh. “May the Asgardians have mercy, I said yes to things I never thought I’d let you do.”

With a contented sigh the box settled into a comfortable pace. “Yeah, that I remember. Such lovely red.” Lost in his pleasant thoughts and their consuming intimacy, he radiated his pure joy without his usual sadism.

And Peter couldn’t help but join. He rolled up, pressed his back to his lover, and groaned with the crushing need that rippled from the core of his being. An arm snugged across his chest, and he brought it to his lips to kiss the inner wrist, run the tip of his tongue over the pebble-textured skin.

“So have I fulfilled my end of our bargain?” Peter asked with a teasing lilt.

Yellow made a pleasant hum as he continued the long, slow, deep plunder of the smaller man’s willing body. “I’ll call us even, boy.”

“Thank you, Yellow.” Peter rolled his hips a bit extra, just enough to make the bigger man’s thighs quiver with his want.

As dawn broke Peter had long lost count of the number of times Yellow came over his body, down his throat, or deep inside him, all the while they both ignored his own erection. His need consumed his resolve until he breathed, “Please.”

“What was that, Petey? Did you want something?”

Tight with need, he whimpered. “Please, Yellow, may your boy come? It’s been hours already.”

When the box made no reply, he continued, “Please, Yellow, I’m so desperate. I need a release. Please.”

A minute later with no answer and Peter let out the smallest sob. “Yellow, I’m begging you to let me come. The ’nads hurt so much, I can’t stand it. Please, Yellow, please, fuck, lemme come.”

Peter’s voice cracked with passion and agony. “Dammit, Yellow, please! Take me in whatever heartless way you want but fuckin’ please let me come!”

Frustrated tears broke free and trailed down both cheeks. In a whisper he confessed, “You _are_ so damned mean, and you _are_ hurting me so fucking bad. But the worst part is how much you enjoy making me suffer.”

Finally Yellow chuckled, such an evil laugh. “Ah, my needy little cocksucker, those _are_ some big, pretty tears. And the best part is how hard you fight them. Such total commitment to a losing battle.” He lifted one fat tear with a finger and brought it to his lips. “I was wondering when you were gonna snap.” His amused expression danced in radiant, reverse-neon colors behind Peter’s eyelids even as the box took his aching, engorged pecker in hand. “Yeah, boy, I’m more than happy to kill you now.”

After a pained whimper he corrected, “A little death, not the final one. Whitey says that’s important when you don’t kick the bucket on the regular. But I still get to make your heart stop this time.”

The box’s sardonic laughter cut off as he swallowed Peter’s neglected erection. Both hands massaged into the flames on Peter’s backside, hard caresses that made him gasp before he could whimper in need and pain. Pinches like wasp stings savaged the backs of both knees, but Peter could only kick out against one at the time, leaving the other knee to suffer.

“Argh, fuck, Yellow, fucking please!” Peter could barely hold himself up rather than melt into a puddle of angst at the mockery and privation.

“Okay. You’re right. Not the time to make you dance. Let’s get you to the bed.”

Peter knew better than to expect instant relief, but at least he wouldn’t be deciding which leg should suffer in a valiant effort to keep from falling on his face. “Thank you, Yellow.”

“Face down, ass up, boy… Whitey…? No, not prone, the one where he’s on his knees… Okay, kneeling. That does make sense.” Yellow paused to cackle as Peter did as he was told. “Stroke it, you horny little slut, but don’t you dare come.”

“Yes, Yellow.” Peter touched himself but had to jerk his hand back. Primed to explode from the slightest friction, he shook with a mild terror at the thought of defying the more insane box. “Yellow, I can’t. Can’t even touch it. ’M too close.”

“Shh, Petey, ’s alright. Just rest on your forearms for a second. That’s right, relax.” His touch feather light, he caressed Peter’s miserable balls before working behind them to press against the pea of his prostate. “That’s my good little cocksucker. Just relax and enjoy my affection.”

Obedience never came easily to Peter, but in that moment, he did exactly as instructed in the frantic hope that he’d be allowed release. If Yellow said relax, then Peter was a limp noodle in his hands. If Yellow said enjoy, then Peter let the pleasure mounting low in his body dominate his attention. And might Wade’s imaginary god Stanley forgive the younger man, but Yellow did make him feel so incredibly good.

Thanks fell from his lips unbidden, a litany so repetitive the words lost meaning. “Thank-you-yel-low-thank-you-yel-low-thank-you-yel-low….” Yet the tuneless chant still rang with a prayer of gratitude for the spikes of ecstasy that loomed ever nearer his tipping point.

And Yellow kept him there, in that tiny heartbeat between plateau and peak.

And Peter couldn’t beg, as it would break the circle of gratitude bringing pleasure bringing gratitude.

And Yellow held him on the cusp of eternity even as time faded to something between null and infinity.

And Peter let himself have a favorite lover in those unending, torturous moments of pleasure.

When Peter came he could do nothing but scream, “THANK-YOU-YEL-LOW!”

“Damn,” someone grumbled with a heavy Italian accent from a balcony below them. A whiff of cigarette tainted the morning air. “Don’t you ever stop? Let that poor whore rest. He was caterwauling when I fell asleep.” The stranger chortled, high and reedy. “If you can’t afford another boy, by all means borrow mine. That one’s obviously spent.”

“Sorry,” Peter yelled, his voice weak and crackly, “honeymooners.” He couldn’t imagine why he’d lied, but it’d seemed so vital in the moment.

“Carry on then.” And the balcony door slid closed.

Peter sobbed as he slid into the hot water of his bath. He wanted his Daddy. Yellow had been nothing shy of wonderful, but the smaller man missed Wade so much in the last twelve hours, and he had twelve more to go. After the amazing but stressful night of rough sex, Peter regretted that no words could tease Wade’s luxurious aftercare from Yellow.

A sensation, bad and sad and dull and mean, settled into Peter’s cracking soul. Shame gnawed at him, but something crueler and sharper lurked, waiting to steal its wounded prey.

Yellow burst through the door. “I pulled the chain on the toilet tank a little too hard, Petey; think you can—holy shit, boy, what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m dropping.”

“Nonononono! Wadey! Wadey, get your ass up here! The boy’s broken and I didn’t do it! He was just takin’ a bath—!” Yellow’s fretting cut off with an anxious whimper.

“Whazzit, baby boy?” Wade rubbed his eyes like he’d been napping inside his mind while Yellow controlled their body. “You okay?”

Fighting a pathetic whimper, Peter shook his head. “No, Daddy, ’m not okay.”

“Is there anything in specific?”

“No, I’m just so overwhelmed.” Peter wished that word could convey how his emotions had overflowed their banks, how every inch of muscle and skin and even some of his bones absolutely ached, how shame ate at him for daring to enjoy Yellow’s excesses when Wade owned his heart. “’M used to being jealous of Spidey,” he muttered.

“So who are you jealous of now?”

“You. No, I mean, you’re jealous. I mean, no, you have no reason to be jealous, but if you did, you’d be jealous of yourself like I’m jealous of Spidey.” He drew a breath as black spots crowded his vision. “Aunt May’s Pearls of Wisdom, Wade, I liked it. So help me I—”

Wade stuck both arms in the water and lifted Peter in a bridal carry, water sheeting from his naked body. “Shh, baby boy, ’s alright. I got ya.” Cradling Peter to his chest like his boy could shatter just any second, he asked, “When’d you last eat?”

“Midnight? One?”

“Way too long. Did that yellow fucker remember you gotta sleep?”

“Um…” Peter felt a stab of guilt, like the truth amounted to betraying the box. “Well, neither did I.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Seems nobody but your Daddy remembers you gotta eat and sleep. Not even your electroplated lab pimp.” Ignoring his wet clothes, Wade snuggled the smaller man close. “’M not entirely certain how to handle that. Well, I mean, obviously in the short term I get some food in you, then put you to bed, but I mean—dammit, Peter, now you’ve got me doing it.”

Peter giggled. In Wade’s capable and trustworthy hands, he broke into happy sobs.

“Hey, none of that.”

“But I’m just so glad to see you, Daddy.”

Peter sniffed at the watery snot burning the delicate tissue under his nose. Laughing and crying, a complete mess, he let Wade carry him to the access ladder. He climbed through the hatch on his own but waited anxiously for his big lover to join him.

“Yeah, just send whatever’s already cooked up to the loggia… Yeah, breakfast buffet’s fine… Four big plates at least. Better make that five… Nah, no coffee, maybe some juice…? Perfect, garçon, thanks.” Wade hung up his phone. “Just another second, sweety Petey, and I’ll help you get into your jammies.” He tossed the smaller man a thick, soft hotel towel.

“Jammies,” Peter echoed with an amused snort as he half-heartedly swiped water from his skin. Grieg’s Morning Mood pumped from the speakers on Wade’s phone, which the smaller man also found hilarious. “Feel like I should be watching woodland creatures frolic in the summer forest.”

Wearing dry sweatpants, Wade held out a pair of Peter’s boxer briefs, which his boy stepped into.

The smaller man glanced down. “Look like a boy again.”

“That okay?” Wade asked.

“Like being a boy. Don’t mind being a girl but like being a boy.”

The older man nodded sagely, creating the comforting impression that his doting lover stored that fact away for later reference.

“Damn, how do you always get it wrong? If anyone’s too good for anybody, you’re too good for me.” Peter’s emotions folded in on themselves, and his mood plummeted.

Patient, Wade guided the smaller man’s legs, arms, and head into the pyjamas, even buttoned the back flap. With a gentle chuff, he remarked, “That’s gotta be the cutest damned thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” He flashed a weak smile, hoping the emotional whiplash might end soon.

“You lay down and listen to the happy music, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter stretched both arms overhead, the exhaustion catching up to him.

“Try not to fall asleep until after you eat.”

Annoyed Peter groused, “’M obedient, not mentally deficient.”

“Then you’re one up on Yellow, Petey-pie.” Wade sat against the headboard, his legs out straight but crossed at the ankle. He patted the spot at the middle of the bed.

Peter climbed in beside him and curled close enough to rest his head on a muscular thigh. “You have the best legs. You know that?”

“So you say, baby boy. Don’t see it myself, but whatever totes your goat.”

Yellow huffed, petulant and offended. “Yeah, I remember: ‘No marking Petey after noon, or we get a repulsor enema.’” He knocked the belt from the bed with an angry swipe. “Damn, Whitey, ’m doin’ it; quit your bitchin’.” He loosened the rope around Peter’s wrist. “Fine, damn you, fine.” He retied the line between Peter and the bedpost so the younger man held the knot in his fist, then secured the other arm similarly. “Happy now?”

“Verrry,” Peter purred, lying flat on his back as Yellow moved to tie his ankles.

With a smirk the box barely grazed from his ankle bone up the inside of his leg to his groin. “You should be. They won’t let me ruin you any more today. But don’t worry; I’ll still make you beg, my darling little cocksucker.”

“I never doubted it.”

Yellow hummed along with a woman covering ‘Seven Nation Army’ as he confirmed Peter could shake off his binds easily. “Whitey says we only have an hour before I hafta let your Daddy drive us to the airport.”

“How will you ever survive?” Peter teased.

“They keep telling me it’s just another week before Wadey’ll turn me lose on you again.” Yellow shimmied up Peter until they lay chest to chest.

“A poor consolation, I’m certain.” The younger man chased lips that stayed just outside kissing range.

“It’s enough.” Ignoring the music, he sang against his boyfriend’s lips, “Love me, love me; say that you love me. Fool me, fool me; go on and fool me. Love me, love me; pretend that you love me—”

“But: I don’t care ’bout anything but you.”

With a giggle, Yellow finally let Peter kiss him. “Now that I’ve got you, what to do with you?”

“You don’t actually have to do-o-o anything; you know that, right? We can just lay here, one naked guy atop another naked guy who’s tied to the bed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Peter caught Yellow’s pouting lip between his teeth and pulled just enough to make him wince. “Dunno, but it turned chilly once the sun went down.”

“So you just want me for my body heat?” the poor box sounded heartbroken.

“Never said that.” Peter slipped a hand free to caress along his beloved’s shoulder and back. “But I don’t want you thinking you constantly have to amuse me.”

“But I like making you scream.” After another moment of pouting, he gasped. “Hey, put that back…! After you hold me for a minute.”

“Glad to, my sweet Yellow box.” Peter squeezed tight at his waist. “’M so proud of you; you did so good today.” At the box’s happy hum, the smaller man nuzzled against his cheek. “You worked with White and Wade to make today special. Then when I dropped, you got Wade to take care of me. You earned a lot of trust, and not just mine.”

“Ya think? Cuz it doesn’t feel like it.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Peter wondered if the idea would stick if he sang the Warwick tune. “Close your eyes and know the words are coming from my heart.” He paused for a breath and crossed his fingers. “And then if you can remember: Keep smiling and keep shining, knowing you can always count on me, for sure. That's what friends are for. In good times and bad times, I'll be on your side forever more.”

Yellow joined in to repeat, “That's what friends are for.” He nodded. “So they are looking out for you?”

“And you too.”

With a suspicious glare, he asked, “How you figure?”

“You don’t actually want that repulsor enema, right?”

“Yeah?” A skeptical brow remained arched high on his forehead.

“And if I go to work too bruised to science?”

“We might as well grab our ankles…?”

“There you go.” Peter slipped his hand back into the restraint. “So they’re looking out for all of us.”

“Because that’s what friends are for.” Yellow beamed with pride from mastering the concept. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make it not hurt.”

“Make what not hurt?”

“Me.” The box gestured to his chest. “My black little soul.”

In an effort to shrug, Peter pivoted gracelessly at his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just try to be gentle and kind, with you in specific, because I think you’ve known very little kindness in your existence.”

“Oh.” Yellow blinked absently. “But I don’t hafta be gentle with you, right?”

“No, sweet box, you just hafta make sure I can work tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

That evil smirk left Peter wondering if he’d made a mistake, but a gentle brush of fingertips trailed down his side and reassured him. When he giggled and tried to shift away, his relief died with a squeal. “No! Yellow, that tickles!”

“I know,” the box breathed, a huff of damp down Peter’s neck that he couldn’t escape.

Or at least he tried to pretend he couldn’t. Thrashing under Wade’s weight, he lost track of the knots he’d been gripping, and one ankle had definitely pulled free. Between shrieks, Peter gasped, “No, Yellow, please! Yellow, stop! Please! No, stop! YELLOW!”

That big body grinded against his, too bad he was laughing too hard to enjoy his lover humping against him with abandon. “Now you’re singing my tune, little fuck toy.”

“Lemme breathe! Pl—fuck, air—Yellow, please!” The tickle stopped, but no sooner than he drew a deep breath under the crushing weight of his boyfriend’s body, the grazing touches returned to teasing him. “No! Yellow, no, please!”

“You beg so pretty, I can almost see my blade slicing that perfect skin.” Pushing up with both arms, he loomed over the younger man. “I love that skin. Our skin useta be flawless like that.” He ran a finger over one unmarred cheek, making the man below him tremble. “You’re so pretty, and I miss being pretty, but they say I have to leave your face for you.”

“I’d appreciate it if you did. I like my face as much as you liked yours.” The ropes lost, he caressed the ravaged visage above him. “But I like your face just how it is. Tells me you’re strong and brave. Says you fought and struggled. Survived. Despite everything, you survived.” He flashed a shy grin. “Makes me feel like the prize after all that, like I’m worthy because you chose me.” Though he suspected he’d be admitting too much, he continued, “The survivor, the gladiator, the one who fought it all and lived, if he says I’m enough, then I’m enough.”

Choked with sadness, Yellow rolled to lay beside the smaller man. “You were always enough, Petey.”

“And you’re the only one who makes me believe it.”

“Not Wadey?”

“The three of you together, Yellow. All of you.”

The box nodded as he thought. “I guess I can see that. But you love me best, right?”

“I love you equally. Every once in a while, for a few seconds, one of you gets to be my favorite, but that never lasts.”

“So I’m your favorite right now, right?”

“For right now, Yellow. But—”

Elated the box punched the air. “Whoohoo! Bite me, you assholes; I’m the favorite!”


	15. Day 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say, that blood's radioactive. Hmm, what would be more annoying than ONE highly radioactive scientist?

“Oh, wow, sorry.”

The feminine voice dragged Peter from a deep sleep, and he took several seconds to register that he lay atop Wade, both of them nude in the sleep cabin of the charter plane. Peter jerked the sheet over them. “My bad, um, sorry. We’re covered now.”

The woman let her hands drop from her eyes. “Say, um, everything okay?” She gestured along her flanks, where much of Peter’s bruising happened to be.

Peter’s face and chest heated instantly. “Oh, um… I mean, yes.” He hoped that was a firm and decisive tone. “Daddy and I got a little carried away on our honeymoon.” That lie again? He wanted to dive under the bed and hide from the concerned woman, but surely that wouldn’t help their case. Instead, he asked himself, _What’s the most confident gesture I can make in this moment?_ A wink? Sure, why not? He’d already embarrassed himself as much as humanly possible. Oh, add finger guns for good measure!

She tittered behind her rubber-gloved hand. “I’ll let you guys get yourselves together, but hurry, won’t you? I need to get home before my twins get outta pre-K.”

“Yes’m.” Peter nudged Wade as the woman disappeared from the doorway. “Daddy, we gotta get moving. Nice person’s here to clean the plane.”

“Ten more minutes?” Wade bargained.

“No, not ten more minutes, we shoulda been outta here an hour ago.”

“Fine, fine.” The big man sat up and blinked at the dawning light. “What time is it?”

Peter checked his phone. “Quarter past seven. I can be on time for work if we hurry.”

“I could BAMF us there?”

“Oh, hell no, Wade. Last thing I need is Stark deciding to throw me a baby shower just because my lab is covered in puke.”

Wade gave a loud gaffaw. “Oh, that would be priceless, baby boy. You sure we can’t convince him his male intern is preggers after spending a romantic weekend in a Monte Carlo hotel room with Deadpool?”

“I’m sure we shouldn’t and that’s enough.” Peter crossed his arms to emphasize his point.

“One more round of hide the sausage?” the older man pleaded, using both hands to guide Peter’s gaze to his own point, standing expectantly between his legs.

“No, Wade.” Peter stalked around the room, searching for his cleanest pair of jeans and least rumpled tee. “Get up and get dressed. The cleaner’s already seen us naked; the last thing I want is to scar her with our fucked-up love life.”

“Aw, but Petey sweetie, I adore our loved-up fuck life.”

“I know.” Peter slipped on one beat-up Converse. He preferred a more professional look, but he worked alone. Besides he’d seen Stark’s condition after a week-long bender in his lab. The younger man growled, “Move that big ass, bub.”

“If that’s your Wolvie impersonation, it sucks.”

“Says you.” Peter found his access badge, phone, and wallet, then started cramming random personal items into his weekend bag. “You recognized him just fine.”

Wade still pouted in the bed. “Can I visit you at lunch?”

The smaller man’s heart quivered, and he struggled to hide how very much that idea appealed to him. “Yeah, sure, just… hurry so ’m not late.”

Despite their best efforts, Peter didn’t make it to his floor in the tower until five past eight. He stepped off the elevator only to find the man himself waiting. “Oh, crap, Mr. Stark, sorry I’m late.”

“No worries. A little birdie told me Deadpool and guest spent the weekend in Monte Carlo and didn’t fly out until midnight.”

Peter grunted as he brushed past the Avenger to reach his lab’s illusion of safety. “How did my love life become our most common topic of conversation?”

“Well I did see you in Wilson’s room.” Stark tugged the door closed behind him. “In a _very_ compromising position.”

“Right. That.” Peter grimaced as he flopped into his chair. “I’d almost successfully forgotten that.”

Stark smirked, enjoying his intern’s discomfort a bit too much. “Little birdie also said there were a ton of noise complaints. Seems someone’s a screamer.”

Peter thunked his heated face atop his forearms on his desk. “Ugh, did you just stop by to torment me or did you have business with Intern Peter Parker?”

“Oh, right, why I’m here: Bruce needs someone to hold his beakers, and you’re first on the list.” He raised a hand to stop Peter’s squawk of protest against any hint of favoritism. “Before you get your dander up, Intern Peter Parker was hired to be his assistant while Emily is on, um, family relocation? Maternity leave? Eh, for the next year or two, she can’t be in his lab due to the radiation. Let’s see how you work out, then decide what’s best for everyone once she’s able to return.”

“Oh.” Peter sat up straight as he considered any drawbacks to his dream job. “But I’ll still be free to pursue my own research?”

The entrepreneur shrugged. “So long as Bruce is happy, research til your heart’s content. Oh, and a word to the wise: you won’t like him when he’s not happy.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“You now have access to his lab. Oh, and the storage room in Subbasement 2. Seems someone left some ideas for an Iron Spider suit in there. Including a prototype. So if you see Spider-man, feel free to escort him down to check out the designs and options.”

“As his personal photographer, I’ll be sure to let Spider-man know.”

Stark’s mouth rounded, as his eyes grew huge through his glasses. He tapped at an interface only he could see. “Gamma radiation?”

“Um, me?” Peter squeaked.

“No, Bruce,” he grumbled sarcastically. “Of course you!”

“Yeah, um, a little,” Peter admitted with some reluctance.

“Kid, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but two milliseiverts per hour isn’t a little; that’s a year’s worth of background radiation. You’re almost as juiced up as the big guy himself.”

“I’m aware.” Peter gave the man a hard glare before he remembered there was no way his boss could know. “I’ve, uh, had some issues. With my, um… swim…” He took a breath to steady his nerves. He never talked about this. “A miscarriage. Destroyed his mother… our relationship.”

“Oh. Sorry. That actually makes your interest in Bruce’s work…” Stark shifted uncomfortably toward the door. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

Peter swallowed his sarcastic laugh. The man had done nothing but pry since The Bare Ass Incident™.

“Look, just move your stuff so I can decontaminate this lab. I’d rather have both of you in the same space for now so I can monitor the background gamma levels. Damn, I really wasn’t prepared for a radioactive lab tech.”

“Yeah. Neither was I.”

“Look, I’ll just… I’m going now. Have FRIDAY alert me once you’ve cleared out.” With that the man slipped from the room.

Unsure whether to laugh or scream, Peter stared after him for several minutes.

With a few science nerd grunts that translated into a mutual agreement of, “I’m really busy with my research, but if you need anything let me know,” Peter settled into Dr. Banner’s lab without much ado. He hadn’t given the move much thought since.

Not until a voice drifted in from outside their bubble. “Baby boy! Thanks be to the gods of cancer and gamma rays. Your lab is cordoned off due to radiation, and I was kinda worried, but FRIDAY led me here, and there you are all safe and sound, and I feel so much better!”

With a shiver Bruce put a hand to his temple as if even the idea of Deadpool pained him. “Oh, jeez, you’re _that_ intern.”

Peter stood, his hands on his hips. “Yes, I’m _that_ intern. But I’m damned good at my job, and I’m intimately familiar with your work.”

“Well, I don’t guess you have to worry about giving Wilson cancer.”

“Not to mention he’s sensitive, funny—”

“Save it for Stark; I don’t want to know. Gah, I already know way more than—” The lab door cut off the rest of Bruce’s half-hearted complaint.

Wade skipped to Peter and leapt into his arms, making the smaller man’s scowl falter. “Mmm, good to see you, baby boy.”

“You too, Daddy, but you gotta get down before someone sees a little intern holding a big ol’ Deadpool.”

“Oh, right, right.” He let Peter set him on his feet. “So my place or yours?”

“It’s gonna hafta be your place. Mine’s gone.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that anyway?”

“Guess I was hired to help Dr. Banner.”

“No, I mean the radiation. Can’t that give you poor little normies cancer?”

Peter watched as the toe of one Converse tried to dig a hole through the fatigue-reducing tile underfoot. “Um, not me. I have the same protective mutation as Dr. Banner. But yeah, um…” Peter cupped the back of his neck and studied the flooring under their feet. He really hadn’t noticed how the marbling followed a fractal pattern before. “So, um, yeah, I’m maybe a wee bit extremely radioactive.”

“You’re cancer on feet?” The ex-killer crossed his arms. “And you never told me? Petey, I’m hurt.”

“Well, I hate admitting it to myself. Honestly I forget, never get close enough to anyone for it to count. Well, except for Aunt May’s thyroid cancer, but that was before I realized… And, um, yeah, my unborn kid. Which still stings like a bitch.” He had thin excuses, but he clung to them, aware of the madness that bloomed in their absence. “I guess Stark had some sort of Geiger counter program running. So, yeah, Dr. Banner’s prob’ly stuck with me. Which means I need you to be really quiet when you come to our lab. It makes him edgy when someone breaks his concentration.” Peter snickered. “Don’t make Hulk smash me, okay?”

“Quiet? That’s a pretty tall order, Petey-pie. Ex-merc with an ex-mouth? You’re asking a lot.”

“But you’ll do it to keep me from becoming a frisbee for the less jolly green giant?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a good Poolie. Let the good doctor stay all calm and pink.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter placed a kiss in the center of his palm.

Wade sprang away from him. The big man took off in a double-hop lope, shifting from one foot to the other in an exaggerated skip. Without a single care for what others might think; Peter skipped along behind the big man, crazed lovers bounding for their hideaway like a pair of cartoon skunks. The empty elevator proved one temptation too great, and the doors opened on Peter with his arms pinned above his head while Wade groped shamelessly through his pants.

Luckily no one was waiting for the elevator on that residential floor at midday.

Wade dashed for his recovery room, and Peter raced after him. Once behind a closed door, they toppled to the bed, giggling. Limbs entwined, they made out like kids half Peter’s age, the kind who were new to love and unsure what came after necking.

Of course Peter knew precisely what came next, and he anticipated the same question as always from Wade. When minutes had passed without Wade asking why they were doing bootcamp, Peter pulled back from the bigger man’s embrace. “What’s up? You aren’t getting the party started?”

“Oh. That.” Wade shrugged, his nonchalance as fake as a bad photoshop job. “I figured you were tired of that game by now.”

Peter recognized the boxes handiwork when he saw it, but rather than address them directly, he slid from the bed to his knees. “Daddy, I wanna finish bootcamp so we learn more about each other. I already understand so much more about you and the boxes, and I’d like to know everything I can. Because I want you so damned much. When I think about how much you mean to me, my heart feels like it’s gonna explode.”

Though Wade studied him intently, Peter noted the distant cast to his expression. For a long while the big man simply hovered in suspended animation. “But he’s right there. He says—”

When Wade whimpered, Peter’s patience snapped. “White, Yellow, zip it. Do not make me go Medieval on you boxes because, not only will I, I’m afraid I’ll go too far.”

Wade’s face winced with Yellow’s fear.

“That’s right, sweet Yellow box; I’m way scarier than Wade or White, and you’re not being a very good friend to me, Wade, or yourself.” Peter had never been so happy to hear someone hum Dionne Warwick. “Oh, so you do remember.”

“Yeah, Petey. Um, sorry, I kinda got carried away.”

“I figured.” Peter gave a soft sigh before setting his sights on the other box. “White, buddy, whatever’s wrong, can we talk about it on Wednesday?”

“Don’t wanna,” the box mumbled petulantly.

“Do you wanna talk about it now?” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his own sullen huff. “Because Wade and Yellow want to rough me up and fuck me stupid. And I’m kinda all for this plan.”

“No. Don’t wanna talk about it at all.” Wade’s massive arms crossed over his chest.

“Okay, if you can let it go, we don’t have to talk about it. Otherwise you have two choices: talk to me or suffer my wrath, and dammit, White, I don’t wanna be that cruel bastard, but I also won’t let you hurt Wade and Yellow like this without one hell of a fight.”

“How’d it become your business how we treat each other anyway?” White practically shrieked. “I hate them so damned much. Deadpool had seemed like the perfect challenge. I never knew pain until I wound up trapped in avocado face’s scarred brain with that blathering idiot as my only companion. It’s torture, every minute of every day.”

_Wound up?_ Peter could overlook that for now, but he’d have to delve deeper at some point. “So the four of us, all working together, what can we do to make this better?”

“Nothing, Peter, nothing. It was impossible; now it’s entirely hopeless. I’m hopeless. Everything’s hopeless, and I just wish Wade could end it all for everyone.”

“Well, since that’s not happening—” Peter paused a beat to let the box digest Peter’s firm stance on that fact “—what can I do to make it just a tiny bit more tolerable right in this instant?” The younger man hadn’t realized how truly shattered White was, and he doubted he was qualified to provide adequate support for a suicidal and homicidal dissociated personality, even if he was the only person the boxes ever talked with directly. Still he couldn’t help but try.

“Just hold me. Hold me and let me forget for a minute that my life is an eternal waking hell.”

Moving slowly Peter climbed onto the bed and wrapped himself around Wade’s massive form. “I can do that.” After petting the box gently until those maniacal eyes fluttered closed and the whipcrack smile softened, he rested his cheek at the center of his lover’s chest. “Is this good?”

“Mmm. Talk to me, Peter; I want to just listen to your voice.”

“Okay, I can do that. Would you like me to tell you a story?” _Peter, you idiot, you don’t know any stories._

“That sounds… nice,” the box admitted. Wade’s body relaxed in Peter’s grip. “I’m so, so tired.”

“’S alright. You’re safe. You can drift and I’ll watch over you.”

Turning from the smaller man, White grumbled, “Would you still care if you knew I want them dead?”

“I know that; I’ve known it for a while. And I still care. I’ll always care.”

“Thank you, Peter. You’re too good for this world.” The box settled back down and let Peter hold him. “That story?”

“So, um…? Once upon a time… there was…? This White box… who was in love with this little science nerd, right?”

White chuckled gently. “So stupid in love it’s not funny.”

“But the little science nerd was the princeling of the Wade kingdom, which made the White box so angry and jealous?”

“’Not jealous. Never minded sharing.”

Peter gave a pleased hum at that little nugget. “But the White box was angry at the king for having the kingdom and his court jester for being a buffoon, right?”

“I hate them so much.” Yet White wore a small, contented smile.

“The court jester made the dumbest, nastiest jokes and forgot everything in half the time it took him to learn it.”

Voice dreamy, White added, “You should hear some of the ways he’s threatened to ruin the princeling.”

“Ah, that’s right, the jester is bloodthirsty and threatens to murder the princeling in a million different gory ways, even though he adores the princeling, who in turn adores him.”

“I’ll never understand what you see in that idiot.” As his breathing slowed, White snuggled closer.

That might be a bit hard to explain, but Peter pushed ahead anyway. “So the princeling adores the jester because he makes everything so intense, so immediate. Even though the jester wants his blood, the jester leaves the princeling reeling every time he…” Peter couldn’t think of a delicate way to put it.

“Creams the twinkie?”

“Yeah, that.” Peter gently snorted in amusement.

White nodded. “He does have his uses. Unlike the meatsuit. What a stupid, irresponsible, incompetent failure of a human.”

“Oh, now anytime anything goes wrong in his kingdom, his highness is there to work out a fix. And he’s very good to his subjects.”

“Hmph, he’s as much an uneducated halfwit lout as his champion numbskull. And he’s not worthy of you. Neither of them are. You’ve never been inside their mind, Peter; they’re monsters. So crass and cruel. Disgusting. Repugnant inside and out. So stupid, stupid, stupid.” He stops to blink at Peter. “Er, sorry, I know you like them… Which does leave an impression that you aren’t so smart yourself.”

As much as Peter’s instincts screamed to attack the threat against his harmony, he hoped to break the mood and instead quipped, “Well we can’t all be this pretty instead.”

“No, I suppose not.” Entirely serious, White gave a mournful sigh. “And you are the prettiest man I’ve ever seen. Which makes it all the greater iniquity that you’re enamored with pizzaface.”

Peter sighed and shifted to a new tact. “See, every time the princeling’s emotions get bigger than he can handle, his highness comes and brings the princeling’s world back into focus. Not only that but he takes preemptive measures to ensure the princeling is better able to face his challenges. Even when the princeling doesn’t know how to take care of himself, his highness does. And he’s so selfless in making sure the princeling is healthy and happy that the princeling feels undeserving of such total devotion.”

“He does all that for you?” White asked with a note of surprise, though the box monitored every move Wade made.

So maybe it was Peter’s interpretation that surprised him. “He does. He makes sure I can be my best self instead of a petulant, sour little prick. Is that something that makes the White box upset with his highness?”

“But… He’s being manipulative, trying to force you stay, trap you, keep you emotionally tethered to his big ugly ass. But… you need him? To help you?” White’s sigh had a broken note that stung with failure and hate. He whispered, “No, I’m glad he takes care of our princeling.”

_There. That’s what I needed to hear. _Peter brushed a barely-there kiss to his cheek. “Me too, White. Er, well, I mean, to clarify, I don’t technically _need_ him so much as appreciate his help.”

The box nodded that he’d heard. Which was enough.

“Are you feeling a little better?”

“Will you keep holding me if I say yes?”

“Mmm-hmm. Because even though the White box is the hardest for the princeling to understand, the princeling loves him just the same.”

“I like this story. You’re too good for me.”

Peter propped his chin atop a fist on White’s sternum and studied his slack, broken expression. “Okay, let’s pretend that were even remotely true. Would it matter?”

“Of course it matters! Without order everything is meaningless.” White jerked like he’d touched a live wire. For a long moment he simply blinked, but then he froze.

Stroking his lover gently, Peter let him work through whatever snarl had entrapped him.

“Everything _is_ meaningless. I knew that. Oh, god, I remember it all.” The tortured box broke into sobs. “Peter, just go. Leave while you still can. The truth of this universe is a monstrous, cruel thing, and I can’t live through eternity knowing I destroyed you.”

Peter tipped the big man’s face down until their eyes met. “So did Dicky kill me?”

White radiated pure confusion at the sudden change in topic. _Nice bit of payback, that. _“No, but only because—”

“I told you so.” Peter let those barbed words sink and catch before adding, “I won’t be destroyed by the truth. I may die; I may become broken and stained; I may lose hope; I may even learn to hate. But you can’t destroy me. I promise you that.” He took a deep breath. “White, you will never, ever destroy me because I refuse to let you. And one day, many moons from now, I’m going to kiss you just like this and again tell you I told you so.”

Awed White continued to stare even as Peter placed one feather-light kiss after another against his quaking lips. Then he flipped atop Peter, a passionate disciple at Eros’s altar. They striped each other eagerly, groping as they went.

“What kind of fey enchanter princeling are you?” White whispered the words along Peter’s neck, making him shiver even as the box unlocked his cage. “Because you’re no more human than I am.” Both dicks in one slicked hand, he made them tremble together. “I bet you’re a changeling. Left on your auntie’s doorstep even as your real self and your parents were claimed by the unseelie.”

Peter’s intended laugh came out as a long, needy whine. “Please, White, not yet.”

With them both hard as tent stakes, White climbed Peter and aligned their bodies. Fast and steady, he breached Wade’s body, pulling back only to sink deeper. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of disappointing, Peter. Wouldn’t dare dream of it.” He rocked atop the smaller man, bringing Peter to teeter at the precipice.

And keep him there.

Keep him unable to breathe.

Unable to come.

Tasting only electricity as sparks danced behind his eyes, Peter’s want overwhelmed his senses. He panted and heaved, all to no avail. He chased his release like a hound pursuing its quarry. Need sparked with boiling flames deep inside his body. He begged—or at least he thought he did, though the words sounded like mindless babble to his ears. Sweat poured between their bodies, despite the slight chill of the seldom-used room, stinging his eyes like acid. Tears seeped from them, rolling unheeded to Wade’s extra soft towel spread beneath him.

“Please, no more! Anything—take anything you’d like—but please let this torment end.” The words fell, slurred and warbling, a spell of protection against the tumult that had his every muscle drawn bowstring tight.

In reply the box rode him hard. For a heartbeat everything was white-hot pleasure, before White scrambled up, leaving him to the familiar ruined orgasm he’d learned to both despise and adore.

Panting, heart a foreboding war drum, Peter pulled the sweat-damp towel from under him before he collapsed to his stomach.

Above him, White growled, hitched, then keened with his release, ensuring every drop landed on the towel. He immediately went to wash up and returned with a damp rag. “Your Daddy says to clean you up now.”

Tongue still numb and electrified, the younger man swallowed. Exhausted, his eyes fluttered closed. “Ngh, thassa competition I can get behind: see who can make Peter come hardest.”

“Next time you top; it’s only fair.” With a reassuring small but manic cackle, White settled down beside the smaller man.

An indeterminate time later Peter jerked awake and shoved to his feet. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…” He had to find his phone; how long had he been dead to the world?

“Whazzit, baby boy?” Wade raised his head a scant inch.

“You had to choose now to sleep? You never damn sleep, but it had to be now?”

“Told ya I wanted ten more minutes this morning. Dying takes a bit outta me for a few days.”

“I know, sorry.” Frantic Peter noted he was late—for the second damned time today. “I gotta go. Dr. Banner will be pissed if I’m not there when he needs me.” The younger man managed to slip one leg into his pants but almost toppled onto his face in his effort to clothe the other one.

“Shh, no, Petey-pie, he won’t. Promise he won’t. He’s gone to some amazing lengths to keep the green guy under wraps. He’ll be fine. Prob’ly won’t even notice.”

Somehow Peter managed to get caught up in his shirt as he pulled it over his head, and he ripped the neck in his effort to get it on quickly.

Big hands clamped onto both his biceps from behind him. “Listen to me: take a deep breath and calm your tits. If you’re working with Dr. Banner, then you need to be tranquil and collected before you waltz back into that lab. He can handle late; what he can’t handle is this mess.”

On the brink of breakdown, Peter turned tearful eyes to his beloved. “I’m trying so damned hard, and I keep failing every damned time. Wade, I can’t lose this job. I can’t. I’ve worked so damned hard for so damned long to get here, and I only have access to Dr. Banner because his last assistant is planning her family, and I’m so outta my league it’s terrifying, but I can’t stop fucking everything up, and I feel like such a total loser every time I—”

“Petey, ’s okay. I won’t let Tin Can fire you. Not that he would. You said he’s glad someone finally has my leash, right? He’s not gonna fire you, not gonna let anyone else fire you. So long as you aren’t taking advantage, you’re golden. Our readers know he’s screwed up more than you have in life. So get in the shower; get cleaned up. By the time you get out, I’ll be back with some fresh clothes, okay?”

“Yeah…” Still dazed Peter slowly processed the instructions Wade had given him. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Once he left Wade’s recovery room, Peter at least felt human again. He slipped quietly into the lab. “Sorry about the long lunch, Dr. Banner.”

The man grunted. Then he glanced up in surprise. “Oh, lunch, right. Want to join me?”

“I just got back from lunch.”

Banner took in his fresh-as-a-daisy appearance and still-damp curls. “But did you eat?”

“Um, no. I didn’t have time.” Peter hung his head.

“C’mon, then. Stark’s treat.”

“Thanks, Dr. Banner.” _For not making any snide remarks on Deadpool riding me hard and putting me up wet._ “Not everyone is so patient.”

“Hey, if you can keep Deadpool from making a scene, I’m pretty sure you’re a genie or something. Best not to make you angry.”

As Peter arrived home, he doubted he’d ever felt so psychologically sound in his life. Wade’s bootcamp might be sheer madness, but it pushed the younger man outside his comfort zone and forced him to take stock of what he valued: Wade’s nurturing nature, White’s trust, Yellow’s sheer enthusiasm, Stark’s dry humor, Banner’s supreme understanding, Aunt May’s all around wonderfulness, even Mary Jane’s wisdom in not pushing herself any further beyond her emotional limits.

He saw his own strengths more clearly: Maybe he was stupidly fearless—Wade hit that one on the head—but that allowed him to pursue his dreams and his happiness without sacrificing either. Sure, he was stubborn to the point of straight donkey, but that also made him resilient in the face of setbacks on his way to success. He accepted the help he needed to recover from his dysphoria at lunch, and he even had people who supported him on all sides.

The entire situation terrified him.

Actively ignoring the Sword of Damocles as well as about fifty ACME anvils, all looming overhead just waiting for Peter to accept his own happiness, he opened the door to their apartment humming a deceptively chipper tune.

And promptly slipped in a puddle of blood.

Barely escaping a face plant, he straightened up and glanced around. “Wade?”

“’M fine, baby boy, just a bounty hunter who didn’t seem to understand the concept of nonunalivable katana-wielding maniac.”

“Did you, uh, unalive him?” Peter asked gently despite the way his chest ached.

“Nah, Petey-pie, she’s a little worse for the wear, a good bit wiser, and I didn’t even maim her.” Seconds after delivering that calm speech, Wade rushed to his side, an arm missing from his Deadpool suit. “Um, you aren’t all freaked about dudette waiting for me when I got back from the tower? Cuz, I mean, your spidey sense woulda definitely tripped. Oh, holy Bea Arthur, I’ve put you in danger. Oh, shit, just… Lemme grab a few things, and I’ll get outta—”

“Shut the fuck up, Wade.” Peter climbed onto his back and clung with every spidery burr he could press to the older man. “You will not be going anywhere without me. And I’m perfectly happy right where we are.”

Wade stood stock still, not daring to move. “Okay, whatever you say, but would you mind unhooking all your pokey little hair things from my spandex? It kinda hurts.”

“Oh, sorry.” Peter slid from his back. “No, wait, you deserved that! It kinda hurts when you decide to bolt every time your past catches up with you. Get this through that thick skull: people might come looking for you—or for me—but we’re in this together, dammit. From here on out, every time I think you’re planning to abandon me for my own good, I’m gonna spider cling to your ass until you calm down.”

“Oh. Oka-a-ay.” Wade took a cautious step back. “So um, yeah, that happened when I got back here. Um, you feeling okay, baby boy? Seem a bit… I dunno… Tense? Testy? It’s definitely a T word. You didn’t, like, swap powers with Banner or anything, did you?”

“No, Wade.” Peter stood on one foot and then the other as he removed his bloody shoes. “Just… My life is perfect. Too perfect.” _Since when is a pool of blood in your entryway perfect?_ “My life is seldom good, much less great, but perfect?” He scoffed at the mere thought. “Something’s about to happen. I’m sure of it.”

The man’s smirk grew wide. “Well, I mean, duh, if you wait around long enough, things’re sure to change. But what was it you said? Causation is not correlation?”

“Vice-versa, but yeah… And you don’t fool me. You know it’s the other way around.” Peter bit his lip and tried to force his nerves to settle. “See? This is exactly what I mean! I’m a dead man.”

“You want a catastrophe, baby boy, Daddy’s glad to provide.” Wade’s smile took on that sharp, dangerous edge that his younger boyfriend had come to associate with the most pleasurable of pains. “Seems someone weaseled outta their morning correction, so we have three between now and bedtime. And Daddy’ll be glad to make them… count.”

Peter’s focus shifted from the knot in his stomach to the man who made his knees knock in fear and anticipation. When they refused to hold him, he dropped to kneel. “Daddy, will you correct your boy so he remembers…” Nothing was there, not one of his Daddy’s four rules. Panic shot through him, his brain a hopeless muddle that he’d never organize before Wade grew impatient. “Whatever your boy is supposed to remember,” he muttered weakly.

Wolfish, Wade circled. Eyes hungry, ready to devour, he licked a pointed canine tooth as if he could taste Peter already. “They all start with D, baby boy, just like Daddy. And Deadpool.” He rolled his mask over his face.

Heart in his throat, Peter flipped through an endless list of words. “Danger. Yes, I’m supposed to avoid danger.”

“Oh, that’s a good boy.” Nothing had ever sounded as deadly as Wade’s praise in that moment. “The others are all _dis-_ words.”

“Oh. Right.” Voice shaking and weak, Peter answered, “Dishonesty, no one likes a liar.”

“Mmm, such a good honest boy.” Wade practically purred the words as he stalked in another circle around Peter, his Deadpool mask covering his expression and leaving Peter off balance. “Just two more.”

“Dis… dis… disrespect. Yes, I, er, your boy, I remember Daddy promised he’d tan my, no, your boy’s hide regardless of who was around the next time he’s dishonest, no, disrespectful.”

“That’s right, baby boy. Gonna make a spectacle of you. March you off so they can’t see it, but they’ll all know. They’ll know how your Daddy keeps your ass in line, right, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter tried to swallow but only managed to set off the water works.

“One more rule, little apple dumpling of my jaundiced eye. Just one more. Can you remember, baby boy?” Malice laced every syllable.

Breath coming in short little pants, Peter couldn’t even find a joke answer, much less the right one. “No, Daddy.”

“That’s too bad, baby boy. Seems like Daddy gets to make you write sentences.” The evil promise in those words left Peter breathless, certain this would be no child’s punishment. “What is the single thing you are least likely to be?”

“Obedient.” Peter sucked down enough air to say, “Daddy, will you correct your boy and remind him to be… No, wait, not to be… Danger?” Peter hadn’t been this nervous and scared the first time he’d done this. Seemed like he should be immune after two weeks, but no, he had to select a lover that could break him down with just the tone of Daddy’s voice. Eyes closed he concentrated to summon the familiar request: “Daddy, will you remind your boy to be careful, honest, respectful, and obedient?”

Wade scratched under Peter’s chin. “Oh, baby boy, seems you need a tune-up today, and Daddy’s glad to correct your thinking. Since you’ve been so kind as to correct his.”

“You… you mean the cactus impersonation?”

“That and so much more. Payback. For every time you’ve cleared my head or calmed my boxes.” His words dripped with so much sadistic promise.

“Yes, Daddy. Please. Correct your boy.”

“My absolute… pleasure. I’ll be glad to give you all the correction you need. And then spank you raw. Then do it two more times, just to make sure Daddy’s correction… sticks.” Wade clamped a hand on the back of Peter’s neck and lifted him to his feet. “Strip, baby boy. I’ll be right back to make sure you’re… clean.”

_Clean? I had a shower at lunch._ Respectful. Peter knew better than to talk back at this point. Obedient. He took of his clothing and folded it neatly, ready to put away in an instant, should his Daddy command it. Honest. He allowed his terror to show in his every move. Safe…

Oh, now that was the kick in the teeth, wasn’t it? Peter was safe; he knew this, trusted Wade profoundly. And yet he didn’t feel safe. Not at all. He’d endure trial after trial until Wade deemed him a dead mouse, too tired to be any fun. The big man would tuck him away for the night, and he’d wake to more of the same before his lover him on his chores for the week.

And he indeed required a watchful eye to keep him from slacking on chores when he’d overexerted himself the day before. His aunt knew that, and so did Peter. And Wade? He’d be counting on it.

And once those chores were done? Wade wouldn’t mark him much more, but he’d definitely make Peter believe he’d been hurt.

And that was infinitely more satisfying.

And arousing. Peter glanced down at his cage, his erection straining.

A mocking laugh marked Wade’s return. “Stand up and present your body. Time for your white glove inspection. Let’s start with Private Johnson.”

Wade unlocked the younger man from his chastity. Fingers encased in soft cotton gloves, he fondled the entire surface of his smaller lover’s meat and two veg. The instant Peter pressed into the pleasant sensation, the big man pulled back to study his gloves.

“Nice work, baby boy; your short arm passes.” Behind the Deadpool mask, Wade’s smile sliced and mocked and promised as he ran his hands over every plane of Peter’s body. “The skin passes. Open your mouth.”

Peter didn’t question; he obeyed. Then the cotton prodded inside his mouth, over and under his tongue, along his cheek, drying him out.

“Mouth passes; no, wait, what’s this?” Wade rubbed along his gumline. “Seems someone forgot to choke for Daddy today. But we can take care of that later. After the intimate… inspection.” He chuckled darkly. “Bend over and grab your ankles, baby boy.”

Anxious about what Wade might do, Peter did precisely as he was told.

“There’s a good boy,” Wade cooed sweetly. “Now let’s learn the truth, baby boy. Are you a clean boy or a nasty boy?” A gloved finger circled his boy’s entrance. “Hmm, which one do you hope? Do you want to be a clean boy, inside and out, ready for your Daddy? Or do you want to be a nasty boy that Daddy has to clean for himself?” He sidled closer to growl lowly. “Answer me, baby boy. Now.”

“Clean,” the smaller man yelped. “I wanna be a good clean boy for Daddy.”

“There. That wasn’t so… hard.” Wade stroked gently along the younger man’s length, making him shiver.

Those pauses made Wade sound off-kilter and threatening, and Peter wished he’d stop—ah! The vibes! Wade hardly ever turned on the plug, much less ramped it up to max. The smaller man quiver and keened.

All the while gloved fingers circled his blocked entrance. Teasing, stimulating, sinking into his taint to massage the bb of his prostate.

Then Peter was empty, mourning, lost, gaping, as those same fingers slipped inside him. _Not enough, not enough, not enough._ He couldn’t remember ever feeling so desolate when Wade removed his plug. But he would endure. He’d allow this unfamiliar emptiness. Because he had no choice. Peter had never even considered a white glove would ever touch his body, much less probe inside him, determine if were truly a good, clean boy, or a façade, a sham, a nasty boy, a liar.

Nobody likes a liar.

“Daddy, my head’s going bad places.” Honesty. Wade had said he always wanted to know things like that.

“That’s a good boy. Go ahead and stand up.” The big man took a few seconds to simply nuzzle him affectionately. The he showed his boy the gloves. “All clean.”

“I…? Um, thank you, Daddy?” Peter’s head swam.

“Except for those teeth. Go choke for Daddy.”

Peter scampered to the bathroom, glad to no longer feel like he was being judged harshly on things he really had little control over. While brushing tiny circles along the gumline of each octant for a full fifteen seconds, he pondered if he was expected to gag himself again. Daddy didn’t say, and he’d by far prefer to simply do it rather than ask. Which made precisely zero sense. But once he finished the last section, bottom inside left, he eased the brush toward his throat until the foam made him choke and gag and sputter.

“Oh, that was dumb.”

“But sexy.” Wade laughed darkly. “Does it work?”

“Um? Your boy always thinks about sucking your cock when he brushes his teeth, but he did that before… this.”

He snatched Peter’s chin and directed the younger man’s gaze to meet his own intense glare. “Then don’t think about yourself on your knees. Think about your Daddy. Think about how much he owns you. Possesses you.” He touched Peter’s lips and the younger man opened his mouth. “Decides everything about you.” He forced his large hand deeper into Peter’s mouth until the younger man jerked and sputtered. “Obviously Daddy has let you breathe for yourself for too long.”

Once Peter had control of his mouth, he replied, “Sorry, Daddy.”

“No, baby boy, you’re exquisite. I’m in no way disappointed in you.” After a few pets, Wade asked, “Head feeling better?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” Malicious, sadistic evil laced that word with an assurance that Peter would now pay for his own indulgences of all three personalities. “Time for your… correction.”

_For my own good. A tune up. Brought to heel for putting Deadpool on a leash._

So terribly unfair on the surface, yet with every creak of crushing calcium cells, Peter’s bones bore the truth in indelible scribbles of scrimshaw: He fucking loved the way Wade made him tremble, hurt, beg.

The pain left him drugged, soaring, so damned high.

And the younger man would hide that one secret, take it to his grave. Otherwise Wade would believe Peter stayed out of his addiction to the man’s power games. No, that would never do. Peter braced his fiercest scrap of soul between that truth and his beleaguered beloved, ready to burn the world to ashes to protect the man he held so impossibly dear.

The anticipated spike of terror didn’t follow that knowledge.

Instead a fond joy settled into his heart, even as Wade ravaged him; ruined him; rent, razed, and ravished him. And when his bruised and battered body was finally laid to rest that night, he clung to the man who brought all that misery.

Because Wade took his sorrow.

Replaced it with pain and pleasure, joy and light, darkness and madness.

And Peter loved every second of their insanity.

Even the ones he hated… No, especially the ones he hated.


	16. Day 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've come this far, you know what to expect.

Still in his footed pyjamas, Peter followed a sweet scent to the kitchen.

“Ooh, painfully cute, baby boy.” In a frilly pink apron over dinge-gray sweatpants, Wade flipped another pancake onto a third stupidly high stack. “Don’t look at me like that; ’m freezing these for later.” He shut off the burner and propped against the counter with a knowing smirk. “So how was my good boy’s first night plugged? Sleep okay?”

“Yes, Daddy. A little sore around the edges.” Peter flushed at the reminder that he’d endure this constant infernal extreme stimulation for the next two weeks. “It’s become more normal to be full than empty, but it was weird to put it right back at bedtime.” He sidled up to continue in a sultry whisper against his lover’s ear. “Between the cage and plug, I’m low-level aroused, all the time. But you know that, don’t you, Daddy? Expect me to stay at a low simmer. Want me ready and willing and oh so very eager whenever the fancy strikes to bend me over and claim what’s yours.” He barely, barely nipped his lover’s earlobe. “Oh, I slept fine. It’s how I woke up that’s the problem.”

Wade cocked a brow. He turned aside and announced, “This is where Petey again threatens me with severe bodily injury if I don’t let him come. Don’t worry though; Deadpool does not comply with terrorists’ demands. Not even sexy, arachnid-themed superhero terrorists that let me do unspeakably nasty sex things to that glorious ass whenever I want. And, oh, Daddy want. Grr.” To Peter he said, “So how did my little Garden of Spiderly Delights awaken?”

Faintly Peter whispered, “Dangerous, aggressive, horny. If I don’t get my rocks off soon, you will pay. And that’s no threat; it’s a promise.”

“Of course it is, my little grumpy-wumpy sexpot of ‘Harder, deeper, faster, Daddy.’ Or, and hear me out here…” Wade raised an inspired finger. “Or you could be a good boy—eat your pancakes, do your chores, sate Daddy’s devious desires, and come when Daddy says.” He tapped that finger into the middle of Peter chest. “See how much better that works?”

Peter grabbed the offending digit and twisted it back. “No. No, I really do not see that.”

“Trust me?”

Eyes closed, he hung his head in defeat. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I swear on Spider-man’s badonkable booty, this will absolutely blow your mind.” That smile returned, the one that offered all the comfort of crawling through broken glass in a salt mine.

“What the hell could I possibly have done to deserve this fate?”

“Why, Petey-puddin’, you failed to take good care of Daddy’s boy, went on patrols while you were too hungry and sleepy to think clearly and react quickly—which Daddy specifically forbade—lied about it _repeatedly_ until Daddy got home, and then disrespected Daddy a little extra by trying to lie to his face.”

Just because the man was technically correct didn’t mean Peter had to like it. Certain steam poured from his ears, he grumbled, “I hate—” He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before he was head down over Wade’s knee.

“What was that you were saying?”

_If I do’ed it, I get a whoopin’. I do’ed it._ “I hate you.”

“Hmm, decisions, decisions.” Wade tapped Peter’s plug as if contemplating deep thoughts. “Such a good boy for being absolutely honest, but such a bad boy for saying mean things to hurt Daddy’s delicate feelings. What to do; what to do…?” His deep chuckle made Peter’s stomach quiver. “White says it should be a wash, says you’re too precious to punish. Yellow on the other hand… Well, you know how he is. At first he was all, ‘Bad bug. Punish him. Spank him so long and hard he’ll never walk again,’ but then he went into James Taylor’s You’ve Got a Friend and decided he wouldn’t like it if we couldn’t walk, so he’s screaming about all the different ways he wants to fuck you. Also until you never walk again. I highly recommend taking him up on the Number Five Surprise.”

Leery of the idea, Peter asked, “So you call it even?”

“I dunno. I think I might need to phone a friend. Never ideal since my only friend is Weas…”

Peter tried to soften his glare, sweeten it to something less likely to earn him extra punishment, a fruitless effort. At least Weasel was unlikely to think badly of Peter for the insane things Wade did.

“So maybe we should call one of your friends? I’d bet Ol’ Iron Britches would find this dilemma interesting. Bet he’d have some fancy mathy doohickey—sounds way more approachable than weighted decision matrix, which just sounds like a fat joke waiting to happen.”

“Wade.” Every ounce of menace and severity in Peter’s body flowed into that one word.

Phone in hand he batted his lashes, oh so innocently. “Yes, snookums?”

“Do not make me kill my boyfriend. Just please don’t. Inadequate consequences exist to stop me from ripping your head off with my bare hands, and I really, _reeeally_ do not wish to experience that if I can avoid it.”

Dead serious, Wade ordered, “Ask me to call Stark.”

Peter blinked; the gears in his mind squealed as they ground to a halt. “Um… Wade?”

“You say you trust me, so ask.”

His insane lover had to be bluffing to test Peter’s obedience, but damn, what if he weren’t?

With barely enough trust to squeeze out the words, the younger man managed to say, “…Daddy, um, will you call Mr. Stark… my boss… the only one standing between me and the unemployment rolls?” When Wade’s thumb pressed the button, Peter’s heart lodged in the back of his throat while a highlights reel of his life passed before his eyes.

Stark answered with, “No, absolutely not, Peter cannot have tomorrow off just so you have someone to talk to while you jerk off.”

“Not why I called, but I like the way you think.”

“…So I’m a little busy; why did you call?” The question carried a fall chill.

“Thank you.”

“…Oh.” Stark’s surprise and wary waiver matched the younger hero’s disquiet. “For what?”

“Your enthusiasm for Peter’s work. I appreciate it.”

“Oh.” The line fell silent as Stark debated his reply to sincere gratitude from Deadpool. “And you’ve been clothed in my hallways. I appreciate that. Now if there’s nothing else…?”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t leave your nerd herd unsupervised. …Might cook up something in the Virgin Vault that rampages through the city. …Again.” Wade hung up on Stark’s indignant reply. He raised a brow as he guided Peter upright.

“That was… not exactly ideal but disturbingly sweet.”

Wade flashed a cocky, crooked grin. “Now eat your pancakes, go put your pyjamas away, then come back and stand in that corner right there until Daddy’s ready for your tender, juicy ass.”

“Yes, Daddy.” He got as far as the table before turning back to say, “Thank you. It’s hard, but I am trying to be sweeter when I’m stressed.”

“You always say that…”

Peter swallowed his shame. “No need to tell me the rest: And I always fail.”

That earned him a bright smile from his lover. “Never said it’d be easy. In fact, I said it was gonna be long and hard.” He paused to chuckle. “Seems like I advised you to run fast and run far.” From behind Peter’s chair he leaned down to growl in his ear. “But some spiders,” he said, his hands cupping his boy’s delicate shoulders, “make everything long and hard.”

Peter replied in a breathy wheeze, “Yes, Daddy.” Another pulse of lust shivered through him, but he allowed it to crest and trough without losing his focus on abandoning his ego to Wade’s will.

“Good boy for telling Daddy you had a problem this morning. You earned a treat for being honest.”

Gazing over his shoulder in wonder, Peter could only parrot, “Thank you, Daddy.”

By the time Peter reached his designated corner, Wade had a collar and chain secured to the wall and waiting for him. At knee height. “Daddy?” On his knees, Peter reached for the collar. “Um, do I put this on myself?”

“Wait, wait, gotta protect those nice, springy joints, baby boy.” Wade guided him to stand, tossed down a thick foam cushion, and eased him back to kneeling. “There. No handmaid’s knee for our baby boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Grab your elbows. Nose to the corner. Good boy.” Wade patted him fondly before cinching the collar snug. “If you need to stretch, do it. Then back into position. Daddy might need some time… Depends on how this goes.”

After a half hour of cursing over the whizz of an electric drill, a series of cracks and a single crash marked the moment when Wade lost patience with whatever he’d been working on. “Screw you, fuckface! I can do this just fine without that lump of kindling!” Another thump and Peter could envision his lover kicking whatever he’d destroyed. Not more than five minutes of unspooling tape later, he announced, “There. See? Perfect.”

Peter couldn’t stifle his chuckle.

“Our sweet baby boy. Laughing on chore day? Tisk, tisk… tisk.” Wade’s voice drew closer at the speed a panther might stalk its unwary prey. “Like this isn’t a somber occasion. Like he’s not halfway through his bootcamp. Like he doesn’t know his ass is about to be blistered. Again.” He dropped a hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, his lips so close his breath tickled along the bare portions of Peter’s neck. “Like he doesn’t know Daddy’s gonna punish him this time.”

The younger man tilted his to one side, exposing his throat to his lover. Reverent he whispered, “Please, Daddy.” He wasn’t certain whether he was begging for mercy or brutality while his imagination forged scenes from Yellow’s fantasies.

One click and the chain fell away from the collar. “Oh, you’ll be good.”

Peter hadn’t realized he’d been chanting, “I’ll be good,” like a mantra. He closed his mouth and pulled a desperate breath through his nose. His punishment hadn’t even started, and he already trembled.

Wade helped the younger man to stand. “So good. Won’t have a choice.” He tugged his boy’s plug hard enough to ensure the dull ache turned sharp, then spun his boy to face him. “Tell me why we are doing this.”

Not a question, a command, a right he’d given his owner, though the man had mostly refrained from using it. “Your boy lied to you after failing to take care of who’s yours.” Peter couldn’t even raise his eyes as the truth burrowed through his defenses, unearthing a cruel pang of shame.

“That’s right.” Wade’s massive body formed a solid wall of stern disapproval, trapping the younger man in the corner. “And Daddy expects you to take excellent care of his favorite fuck toy.”

“Will you punish your boy so he remembers not to lie to Daddy?” Because—let’s face it—that was precisely and exactly what Peter had signed on for when he agreed to the bootcamp.

“Oh, yes, baby boy, I will.” With a single hand he turned Peter’s face from one side to the other, studying. “You might recall that Daddy never said he was calling anything even.”

“Yes, Da—er, no, Daddy, I don’t recall, but yes, Daddy, I, er, your boy, yes, your boy, I submit, willing and grateful…” Peter paused to breathe, even as his chest tightened. “Your boy will submit to…” _Breathe, dammit._ “…Whatever Daddy deems fit.”

“That’s good, baby boy. Very good. Go assume the position.” Those words had the bass rumble of a satisfied jungle cat’s deep purr.

Uncertain that he could stand, much less walk, Peter managed to slip under Wade’s arm so he was no longer boxed into the corner by the man’s bulk. In the center of the room was a hunk of cast iron and wood that had once been a school desk, seat cracked, writing surface askew.

Leaning over his chair, Peter stared straight down at the weighted anal beads, coiled beside a harness that Wade had secured to the chair seat with a comical excess of packing tape. The younger wanted the sight to be funny. Except he’d soon have bead after bead fed into his body with no recourse and no clue of when Wade might pull them free.

Peter kissed the wood against his lips, still focused on the thirteen spade-shaped black beads, running from large to intimidating. Would his sore, swollen rim even allow that final abomination to enter his body? Did it matter? Unless he pineappled out, Wade would force it inside him one way or another.

A few gentle love taps brought Peter’s attention to the present. Wade started slow, and Peter took what comfort he could in that. As his mind fit the rate of acceleration to a parabola, Wade reached the tipping point, where the severity ratcheted upward steeply with each stroke.

Tears, jerks, cries, sobs, and still the pain gained momentum.

As it leveled off, finally, mercifully, indulgently, Peter denied the insult of being upended like a naughty child. Then an indignant tide rose to oppose the pure Skinnerian behavior modification. A mute but fierce anger at the sheer injustice of rewiring his mind swept him away, igniting a flicker of outrage in its wake. Fantasies of revenge danced in his mind’s eye.

They did nothing to stay Wade’s hand.

Retribution crumbled, leaving Peter begging, offering his lover anything and everything to stop the onslaught if only for a single breath not accompanied by the violent jolt and the searing pain.

Air wasted as his punishment continued unabated.

The younger man sagged in defeat. Tear after tear rolled up from his soul. Terrible but just, Peter endured what he’d earned a thousand times over in his life.

“Hate me, hurt me, hit me—fuck yeah, baby boy, hit me—but let me be able to trust your word.” Strong arms pulled Peter to a muscular chest and let him sob for several long minutes.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. It won’t happen again.”

“I know, baby boy. You’re such a good boy. So sweet and kind and thoughtful. You spent so long trying to protect so many people, but you don’t have to protect me.” More minutes ticked by as he patted the younger man. “Let’s just worry about now for now. Time to get ready for sentences, my forgetful little love muffin of adorableness. Stand up straight.”

A tremor rippled through the big man as his finger traced the path of Peter’s tears. “Damn, you’re gorgeous when you cry. Like I put a quarter in for the peepshow and, when the door rolls up, there you are, most gorgeous thing ever.” A bright cheery note made his voice rise a bit higher: “And I don’t even gotta wank it for myself.”

Peter smiled through his tears, helpless against his lover’s antics. “Have I mentioned that you’re an idiot?”

“Meh, even if you didn’t, I’ve heard it often enough to believe it.”

While considering all the ways Wade was so very far from an idiot, he recalled White’s opinions about their primary personality. The entire discussion nagged at him. “Maybe now’s not the time, but can I ask you something, Daddy?”

“Anything, sweet princeling.”

“Does White’s perfect memory require he’s paying attention and only apply to autobiographical details, you know, stuff he’s lived? Like, if he watched a minute go by in 1999, he can relive that minute to tell us how long to hold the flying camel pose?”

Wade’s face twisted, puzzled, before he answered, “Maybe? Prob’ly?”

“I think he’s in your hippocampus and your caudate nucleus. And I think that’s hurting him, like his past is poisoning his present.”

“Real hard for me to give a shit, baby boy.”

Peter brushed a gentle kiss to his dry lips. “Hurt people hurt people. If he wasn’t suffering, I think he’d be kinder to you and Yellow.”

“So you want to what? Open up my head and move him? Cuz, I gotta say, I don’t like the sounds of that. Unless you wanna remove him.”

“No, nothing like that.”

Wade pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow. “Glad to hear it.”

“First of all he’d just grow back,” Peter teased.

“Asshole,” the older man muttered even as he chuckled.

“Since his every memory is just below the surface and he can never really forget the bad things, maybe he can learn how to put his past into perspective, but I don’t know how to teach him that.”

With the barest of nods, the bigger man wrapped an arm around his boyfriend. “Anything you need, I’m here to help, Petey-pie.”

“Daddy, this might require a professional.”

Wade jerked backward half a step. “Oh, no, don’t go getting crazy on me, baby boy. No need for that. All’s well. I’m fine; White’s fine; Yellow’s as close to fine as he’s ever gonna get. No problems here. No reason for concern. You can move along now.”

“Daddy, I’m serious. Yellow’s amnesia is no biggie since he’s willing to listen. White, on the other hand, his memories are torturing him, and in turn he’s torturing you and using Yellow, and I don’t like it.”

“Okay, baby boy, okay. I’ll think about what it’d take to allow someone to tinker about in the old noggin. Good enough?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Wade cracked a wicked smirk. “Now then, are you through stalling?”

_So damned fond._ Peter rested a hand over the ache in his chest. “Yes, Daddy.”

With the first bead, Peter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he issued a wanton moan of pure and utter carnal delight. “Ple-e-ease, Daddy,” he gasped as the second pried him open wide to fill him. While his breath came in short, rapid pants, he quickly lost count. Just a little sharper stretch, just a little greater heft, and then the relief of his rim being allowed to relax, only to do it all again, and again, and again.

After a rapid spasm from the stretch, Peter yelped, “Oh, Daddy, it’s so big!”

“That’s what they all say.” Wade snickered. “Just two more after this, baby boy.”

Biting his lip as the stretch intensified, the younger man squeezed his eyes tightly closed. “Yes, Daddy.” The sting sharpened, and then the bead popped through, pulled deeper by muscles outside his control.

“Second to last.”

When the next sting proved too much for a moment, Peter panted like a Lamaze instructor. Then the bead slipped inside him. A maddening, erotic throb replaced the pain. “So good, Daddy; so good.”

“Last one.”

So full, so huge, so much. Too much. “Hurts!”

Wade tugged it out. “Will you let it hurt for Daddy, baby boy?”

Peter flexed his calves as he considered the question. Distressed by how very much he wanted to hurt for Daddy, he pleaded, “Yes, Daddy, please, hurt me.”

Bright sparks of agony radiated from Peter’s core as the final bead stretched him wider. And then it was through. A firm tug, and it pulled out from him. When forced through the strained ring of muscle again, he yelped. Tugged out again, he begged, “Please, Wade, no more, enough!” But his lover intended to rip as much intensity from the smaller man as possible, and the onslaught continued even as Peter wilted from the pain.

Then it was over, and his rim throbbed with his heartbeat, the relief and pleasure so intense Peter could barely stay on his feet. “Thank you, Daddy,” he gasped as he panted.

A dark chuckle replied. “Oh, baby boy, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Let’s get you snapped into your chair.”

After a couple of tries, Wade managed to guide Peter into place. His weight settled on his flaming cheeks, leaving him impossibly desperate for the big man to ruthlessly pound him into their mattress. His erection raged inside his cage. Overstimulated everywhere except his aching cock, he rocked, but it only put the weights into motion.

“Remember, baby boy, penmanship counts.” Wade slid his boy’s chair into the table.

The stack of pink rainbow stationary on the tabletop bore a single perfect line: “I will be honest, respectful, obedient, and mindful. x100.” Peter noted the change to mindful, a word commonly used in his psychology texts.

Too bad he couldn’t think.

He fought to organize even the simplest idea over the rage of sensations tearing through his body.

After winding a mechanical timer, Wade set the ticking bastard just outside Peter’s reach. “You have a generous twenty minutes, baby boy.” Then the infuriating ex-merc with an ex-mouth wandered off humming to himself, the tune familiar but impossible to name while his mind melted.

Peter couldn’t even calculate the sentence per minute goal he’d have to make to complete his task.

With a trembling hand he lifted the neon orange gel pen. Too bad his body spasmed as he set pen to paper. He writhed, panted, squirmed, bucked; nothing eased the desire that rode him. He’d have to simply endure.

Not precisely the easiest job.

Halfway down the back of the fourth page, Peter reached the hundredth line. Hand aching, he paused long enough to massage out a cramp. Only halfway through when the buzzer went off, Wade watched over his shoulder as he completed his spider scratch and dropped the last period.

“I’ve seen doctors with better handwriting, baby boy. This is so sad I won’t even make you do it again.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Lift up a little, baby boy, so I can work you free.”

“Yes, Daddy.” At this point Peter wondered if he could say anything else.

“Stand up straight.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Go get dressed to house spouse.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Trying to mop, Peter bit his thumb to quiet his whimpers. His list was shorter this week, plus Wade crossed off a few items while the younger man had slept. Even so the work had taken longer than the last two Tuesdays.

His own toned calf, elongated by the heels, glistening in nylons, both powerful and feminine, caught his eye, and his cock jumped at the sight. Another pang of agony, another whiplash of want, need, desire…

Peter trembled.

If only he could finish this bathroom floor, he could scratch out the last item on his list.

A few more minutes. He could mop for a few more minutes, right?

He wasn’t so certain. But he would anyway. He had no choice.

“There’s my good boy.” Wade studied the list. “Ooh, so close to done. You can do this, baby boy. Just a little more for your treat. Don’t forget to mop behind the toilet.”

Peter worked his way toward the source of encouragement, focused on the promise of his treat.

Mop pried from his hands, Wade tossed it into the hallway. He scooped up Peter as if he hardly weighed a thing. “Time to get ready to head out for the night.” He set Peter by the tub. “But first that treat.”

As the bigger man knelt down in front of Peter, he caught a whiff of mint, something strong. Not peppermint precisely and not spearmint either. While he pondered what else it might be, a snick presaged the moment when his straining cock sprung free, his balls finally released from the torment of his desire. From under his petticoat Wade chortled.

An electric frost blazed up his cock.

“Wintergreen,” Peter observed between eager pants. “I think I’m dying.”

Wade paused long enough to mutter, “’Course you are. We were all born dying, baby boy.”

Back against the wall, Peter wailed a wordless plea, a prayer his lover granted, so deep the bigger man nuzzled his sparse pubic hair. The hand at his throat turned out to be his own as his pulse pounded under his fingertips. Though he’d teetered on the cusp for hours already, Wade drew out the moment until Peter became a ravenous mess of urgent need and razor-honed desire, biting and cutting.

A blaze rose from his groin and seared over his skin, then he was gone, lost, unanchored from time and place and self.

By the time his breathing slowed and his mind cleared, he’d allowed himself to be set into a hot bath. He blinked down at the glittery unicorn snot-colored water as roses, peonies, and lily of the valley bloomed in his mind. The strip of wintergreen tingled with the heat.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“You mean the Blowjob of Fire and Ice?”

Peter let his head drop into his hands, though the corners of his mouth still quirked with affection. “That’s… That’s just terrible. Accurate. But terrible.”

“I know, iddn’t it great?” the older man asked as he scrubbed across Peter’s back.

When the weights shifted inside Peter, he asked, “Daddy, will you take the beads outta me now?”

“Can you wait til tenish, baby boy?”

“Is it a matter of life and death?” he groused.

“Well, not mine…” Wade chuckled at the way Peter squirmed.

Insight burst into the younger man’s mind. “You’re like this all the time, aren’t you?”

“Well, I mean, yeah. This is me, baby boy; I’m the merc with a mouth 24/7/365. Exactly what you see.”

“No, you’re so horny every minute of every day that it kinda drives you insane.”

Wade’s features rounded in surprise. “More Yellow than me or White, but yeah, I suppose we all are.”

“That sucks.” Peter scoffed. “This sucks.” He swept a hand along his own torso. “But when bootcamp ends, I get to go back to wanting sex twice a week. You remain constantly on.”

With a small and sad smile, the bigger man nodded. “And this is why Yellow worships the ground you walk on. Nobody else bothers to see his nucking futs point of view. Just brand him dangerous and run the other way.”

“To be fair, all of you are dangerous.”

“Yeah.” Wade gazed upward, his brow drawing ever tighter. “’S not afraid of you, just worried— No reason to— Fine! You ain’t ever gonna believe me, so fine!”

Yellow surged into his boyfriend’s countenance, awash in pain. “You and me, we’re still friends, right? You don’t wanna cut me out like Whitey?”

The sheer misery of the questions shattered Peter’s heart. “We’re not cutting anyone.”

That only broke the box more.

“Oh, sweet Yellow box, no, I promise I want you happy and safe and loved. I’m not cutting anyone, but you might get the chance on rare occasion. Just because I love you.” With a gentle caress on one cheek, he pulled the big man close enough to kiss between the eyes. “You and White and Wade, all of you. I don’t want anything bad ever to happen to any of you. And no one is getting cut outta your head. Even if I tried, White would just grow back.”

After a thoughtful nod, Yellow smirked. “Your Daddy says to remind you that you came without permission.”

“Oh, hell no, you bring him back here! That was a treat! I don’t need permission to enjoy a treat!”

Yellow giggled merrily. “Nope, says I should get you ready, while they discuss Whitey’s Wednesday.” He winced. “Sounds more like a screaming match, and they won’t lemme play. Just because they know I’ll win. I can scream better than either of ’em. Wanna see?”

“I know you can, no reason to show me just this second…” Peter let a heartbeat pass before he let down his guard. “So what are they screaming about?”

“Whitey’s being a pissy little bitch that doesn’t wanna play. Hey, Wadey, if he don’t want Wednesday, I’ll be glad to knock up our precious Petey… Yeah? Well, fuck you! What if I don’t wanna get Petey all dressed f—? Oh—? Fuck yeah, I wanna see that… Yeah, okay, right: get us and the boy dressed in the clothes you put out. Can do.” He grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him up.

“Hold on, Yellow; gotta rinse my hair.”

“Oh.”

Two hours and much cocksucking later, Peter had them wrangled into their clothes. “I should be patrolling, and I have no idea why we’re all dressed up. Hope we weren’t supposed to be anywhere at a specific time.”

Yellow shrugged. “That’s Whitey’s job. And he’s still sulking.”

“Do you know why he’s upset?”

“He’s a bitch,” Yellow stated as if it were the simplest fact ever.

“Okay, so you know how much you hate it when someone says you’re a bitch when something is hurting you?”

“Wait, don’t tell me!” Yellow seemed particularly chuffed at the chance to reason out an idea. “Okay, if I don’t like it, he don’t like it. Wait, you’re saying Whitey’s not being bad to piss Wadey off? He’s hurting? He can hurt?”

“That’s right. Does it seem like Wade thinks White is trying to piss him off?”

“Well, even I remember Whitey’s done a lot of shit only to piss him off. Thinks it’s funny since meatface deserves it.”

“So is White laughing?”

“No, he’s being a bi—um, well, he is.”

Peter groaned. “Okay, but can you tell me why Whitey’s being a bitch?”

“Yeah, cuz he’s sulking.”

“So why’s he sulking?” Peter felt like the toddler after this string of whys that Yellow struggled to answer.

“Oh, you mean why is he hurting. Um, dunno. Didn’t know he could. He’s always laughing. Even when he’s tryna talk Wadey into killing us again.”

And Yellow would forget all of this as soon as the discussion ended. If Peter were lucky. He sighed. “Yellow, people sometimes laugh to hide their pain.”

“Wait, you mean he’s… laughing because it hurts?”

“Yellow, sweet Yellow box, Wade beat the shit outta me last week, and it made me giggle.”

After a moment of processing that gem, Yellow relented. “Whitey keeps saying we should just kill ourselves and leave you alone. That you deserve better. That a junked-out street whore in the rain gutter deserves better. But that’s not true, right, Petey? It’s okay that we’re with you? Oh, bad bug! You don’t want us! You lied and said you did, and made us believe you and I hate you! Punish you, make you regret—”

As Yellow reached for the blade on his belt, Peter shoved into the box’s arms and wrapped them around his waist. “Yellow, ’m right here, right where I want to be, right where you want me, right where I belong. Feel me?”

Confusion swirled in his lover’s gaze. “So Whitey’s lying? I’ll cut that fucker—”

“No, Yellow, he’s not lying; he’s wrong.”

“But Whitey’s never wrong! He says so all the time!”

“Okay, that’s him lying.”

“How the hell do you keep all this straight?” the box glared at him, as if unsure whether Peter were the one yanking his chain.

Exhausted by the discussion, Peter distracted him with a kiss. “Nothing straight here.” He pulled the curtain back on the floor length mirror he’d mounted on the wall. “C’mere and lemme see us together.”

“Why’d you wanna do that? We look like a shaved dog’s ass.”

He motioned for the box to join him. “C’mere, and I’ll show you.”

With a shrug of big shoulders, Wade’s body moved to stand behind Peter, sheltered from the anticipated hideousness. “Hey, even with all the scars, we’re kinda alright on the eyes?”

“It’s called dysphoria. Wade has it, and White makes it worse on purpose.”

“Oh.” Yellow watched himself flex and move in the slim-cut midnight amethyst suit. “Skin’s gnarly, but it’s not puss and pizza sauce…? What the hell, boy?”

“Wade’s wrong and White’s lying.” And Yellow would forget this before the next time White went on the attack, join in just for shits and giggles. Peter wanted to scream and sob and fight everyone who’d ever averted their gaze from Wade’s ravaged face simply because he exuded danger.

Peter studied their mesmerizing reflection. His bath left a faint shimmer on his skin. His gauzy, midnight emerald top met at a single platinum ring holding the front and back together over one clavicle. He glowed against Wade’s solid form, drawing the eye. But even in the background Wade cut a formidable figure, his prowess understated by the dark color but present in the generous cut.

“So that’s me?” Yellow waved his hand between himself and his reflection. “There’s no way…”

“Yep, that’s you.” Peter reached over to pat his cheek while peering into the eyes of his reflection. “See? Feel me touch you?”

Yellow’s face fell. “Why would they lie to me like that?”

“It hurts me too.” The younger man turned to comfort the box. “But they aren’t intending to hurt us.”

“They said our face makes people puke.”

Peter shook his head. “No, being covered in gore makes people puke. And the bad telemerase days? You smell like death, and that makes people puke. Particularly when it’s concentrated inside that mask for hours on end. Oh, and kicking people in the guts, that also makes people puke. Seeing their own blood? Pukesville.”

“Oh. So Wadey thinks it’s our face, but it isn’t.”

“Yup.” Peter covered the mirror. “Are they still fighting?”

“Not exactly?” Yellow snarled at something Peter couldn’t see. “I think Wadey lost.”

Peter’s heart crashed into his ribs at a hundred miles per hour. “Can you bring him to me?” He guided Yellow toward the couch.

“Yeah, I think I can. But it’s not gonna be easy.”

“Will you do it anyway? For me?” _Please remember, please remember, please remember…_

Peter’s lover’s expression went slack with no one driving. He eased their body to sit. Wade’s phone rang from his pocket, but the younger man ignored it. Minutes passed in anxious anticipation. Surely one of them would pop up soon.

“…dow, orb weaver, huntsman, trapdoor, house…” Wade rocked, near catatonic, as he recited species of spiders.

The litany was new, at least for Peter. For the first time he wondered if Wade were the personality born into this body. What if he were just a dominant alternate that came out under extreme stress? Would another primary personality show up one day and claim the body as his own? Once Peter made it safe to return, would that personality abandon him?

_Doesn’t matter. Not one bit._

“Hey, you gonna come back to me? Can you get control of your hands?”

The thumb and pinky on one hand fluttered. “…bloviate, blow, blowsy, blu-ray…”

“That’s right. Get them moving.”

Both hands spasmed, and Wade’s murmurs went silent.

For the fifth time in their several years of acquaintance, Peter lured Wade back into the driver’s seat. The smaller man grinned as his lover peered out at him again.

“Shit, you’re a glorious sight for offended eyes!” He ran a hand down the younger’s face.

“Might wanna check your phone, Daddy; someone called less than five minutes ago.”

“Oh, shit, we’re late!” Wade fished his phone out and punched a button. “Yes, I know. Just give them something tasty—on me—and we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He listened with his head tilted. “You’re a doll; I owe ya one.” Then he hung up. “No time to play psycho the rapist, baby boy; we’re late.”

“Oh, I’m so surprised. Lemme show you my surprised face.” Regardless Peter chuckled softly. “Welcome home, Daddy.”

Wade took Peter’s hand. “Glad to be here. Now we gotta make like a tree. A tall oak, nice and thick. Strong enough to impale dat fine—er, no, leave. We gotta leave.”

“I forgot all about the book club,” Peter muttered, adjusting his mask again before grabbing the overhead bar that would keep his profile centered in front of the searchlight.

“Well they never forgot about you.” Wade pinned a white sheet to a clothesline that ran about nipple high. Above that they’d see everything. “They’ll lust after you until their dying breath.”

Peter and Wade stood behind red stage curtains erected on the widow’s walk atop the Blasted Heath, hemmed in on all sides by spiked wrought-iron ornaments. On the other side of that curtain, dozens of people chatted in low tones. Many dozens.

“I’m not certain I can do this.”

“Of course you can, Petey-pie. You can do anything.” Still Wade sidled up to whisper in his ear, “They won’t see your face. They won’t see your gorgeous cock. All they will see is a black shape, only a hint of you—the barest taste of everything you give me. And that will be enough. You’ll make them fall apart. Leave them shuddering and needy and so very desperate for more.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter swallowed his heart back down and forced himself to inhale deeply.

No one here would think less of him for letting Wade show him off. High dividers with cascades of white fairy lights prevented observation from the two taller hotels to the south. If Stark’s little birdie were watching, that was the birdie’s problem, not Peter’s. The man probably had FRIDAY routinely scan worldwide flight manifests for people like Deadpool. Then again he could hack a satellite as easily as Peter.

Or it could be a drone, a mechanical birdie watching him from afar. The younger man glanced overhead: velvet brown with light pollution, not much in the way of stars. He could deploy a few spider drones, but what good would it do? Stark’s would be armed, presuming any were really following him.

Peter should work up some weaponry for his own, which already carried bots and trackers. Maybe an energy weapon. Wade surely had some alien tech stashed somewhere that Peter could reverse engineer.

Someone coughed on the far side of the curtain.

_Don’t think about those people, dammit. Just concentrate on the drones. _

Oh, crap on a cracker, they were breathing. Waiting on him. Hoping to see him come for Wade. Their eager impatience hung so heavy, he could damn near smell it. Arousal tainted the air. So many people, so many pheromones, so much bated breath. Inhaling and exhaling like one enormous beast poised to devour Peter whole.

Humming the Muppet’s theme Wade flipped the switch to the searchlight. Warmth spread over Peter’s side. _Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. Just keep swimming… _The younger man panted in shallow gulps.

“Ready to break a few hearts, _ma petite araignée chérie_?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Willing to do it anyway?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Before he even finished the words, a crack opened in the curtains, which receded to the sides. They could see him. Peter glanced out on faces lit glaring white outside his shadow. _Overexposed._

“Don’t look at them, baby boy; look at me.”

“Yes, Daddy.” They could hear him answer Wade like a toy, a trinket. A sex slave, owned. Less than human. Just a pet.

“Eyes on Daddy.”

_Daddy. Where I belong. _Peter nodded, pulled himself together. So long as he focused on Wade, everything would be okay.

The bigger man squeezed the circle holding Peter’s thin shirt up. It opened and the front slid free. When Wade lifted it, he disappeared in the bright, diffuse light that enveloped them. Peter released the bar overhead, fighting the urge to scramble from the cloth. Once it wisped over his head, his lover grinned softly. With the cloth off Peter’s arms, he grabbed onto the bar as if it were the safety grip in a car careening out of control.

A wicked glint seeped into the older man’s expression. He brushed his hands over Peter’s nipples until they hardened to pebbly nubs. A stunning anguish zapped out from them, and Peter’s mouth fell open. Panting in pain, he remained stock still, his gaze locked on his boyfriend.

“That hurt, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Does it hurt enough?”

Peter stalled, pretending to consider. _Absolute truth. _“No, Daddy, please hurt me more.” Admitting his desires to Wade was one thing but—_Just me and Wade. No one else. Just me and the man I love. _Big hands squeezed his ribs until his head fell back in a silent scream.

“Good boy.”

Those same hands found the fly of his slacks, and Peter trembled. He wore only a pair of silk panties underneath. Fluttery. Curving over his hip before running high over his ass, they would be obvious in silhouette.

On one knee, eyes never leaving Peter’s, Wade slipped the smaller man’s foot from his shoe, tugged his pants from his leg, and placed his foot oh so carefully back in its leather casing. Then he repeated the process on the other side.

Those hands again. They found Peter’s ass and massaged over the silk. “You wanna keep these pretty tanga panties, or you want Daddy to strip you naked?”

Hyperventilating through his nose, Peter fought down his panic. “May your boy keep them, Daddy?”

“What was it that my boy wants to keep, sweetie pie? Tell me exactly.”

Daddy said they were something specific, but hell if Peter could remember. “May your boy keep his pretty, fluttery panties, please, Daddy?”

“Not sure what you mean. Describe them to me.”

“Yes, Daddy. They’re r-really soft. D-dark green. An’ a l-little bow. In the middle. There’s lace, just a little. At the edge.”

“So what is this then, baby boy?”

A quake ran up Peter’s spine as he forced out the feeble confession: “My cage.”

“Little louder for the folks in back, sweetheart.”

After a few aborted tries, Peter managed to croak, “That’s your boy’s cage, Daddy.”

Though Peter expected derisive giggles and scandalized gasps at his expense, their audience remained enraptured, silent beyond a few hushed moans. A crisp smack jerked Peter’s attention to the back row of folding chairs. A man in a collar slipped from his seat to kneel facing his mistress, head bowed, motionless, owned.

_Right where he belongs._ Peter shivered. _Is that where dude found his sense of home?_ _Is it how I’ll find mine?_ No, he shook off the idea. Wade was his home, and he’d never asked for Peter’s life in such complete surrender. If anything the bigger man offered his own. Halfway through bootcamp, Peter thoroughly understood the value of his boyfriend’s submissive devotion, and he vowed to never take it for granted.

Wade turned the younger man’s face back to him. “And tell the nice people what we keep in my boy’s cage.”

“My, er, your boy’s…” Peter swallowed. He knew the truth. “Daddy’s cock.”

“Tell them about your cage, baby boy?”

“It helps me be a good boy for Daddy.” That felt okay to admit, less shocking than Peter expected, so he continued, “Makes sure I don’t touch myself, no matter how much I want to.”

“And why is that so important?”

Peter’s throat constricted with foreboding. He rasped, “Because Daddy decides when I come. Daddy decides everything about me.”

“Fuck.” Wade’s bald head dropped to his raised knee. Seconds passed before he gazed up at Peter again, eyes twinkling and damp. “So what happened between your chores and your bath, baby boy?”

_You tricked me._

In his imagination, Wade replied:_ The point of the game._

_Fair enough._ “Daddy’s boy came without his permission.” The younger man licked his dry lips. _A public punishment. That’s less fair._ His cage pulled from his body, and he tried to ignore his rising agony.

A kindness too great for words, Wade slipped Peter’s panties down just enough to unlock and remove his cage, then slid them back into place, snapping the waistband. “How do your panties feel on Daddy’s cock, baby boy?”

Shaking and rocking, Peter hardly whispered, “Good, Daddy.” Needing more decibels he took a faltering breath. “They feel soft and cool. Smooth.” Another deep breath and he stopped feeling so light-headed. “May your boy keep his panties, please?”

“There’s my good boy. Yes, baby, Daddy always likes giving his boy whatever he wants.” Wade stood, stalked around behind Peter, slipped the thong aside, and tugged the safety handle on the beads Peter had forgotten entirely. Chin on Peter’s shoulder he asked, “And what is this?”

“B-beads.” Not loud enough, he tried again. “Those are the anal beads Daddy put inside his boy for chore day.”

“And how do they feel, baby boy?”

“Heavy, Daddy. Heavy and big. And full. So full.”

“Twist those hips and shimmy for the people.”

“Yes, Daddy.” The weights cascaded inside Peter with each flick of his hips. Silk teased his exposed cock and his ravaged ass. Need tainted his moans. Within moments he broke: “Please.”

Wade whined from behind the younger man, a sound of pure desire. He smoothed his boy’s hair from his face, allowing the light sheen of sweat to evaporate in the cooling night air. “Oh, my sweet princeling of erotic seduction, ready for release already?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter grinded back into his lover.

The older man rolled hi boy’s panties down to his thighs. “Look down, baby boy.”

Without the enticing silk to keep his erection snug to his belly, it jutted forward. A quick glance at the sheet proved his dick cast an exaggerated shadow from the slanting light.

“Tell them, are you hard?”

Voice thick with arousal he answered, “Yes, Daddy.” He longed to reach down, feel it for himself, but he kept his hands where Daddy put them.

“Good. Let’s record this for posterity.” Wade’s dark chuckle made the smaller man’s straining erection bob again. “So, my darling little fuck bunny, tell the people, have you ever been whipped?”

“No, Daddy.” Braided leather slid from his shoulder, down his back, to his ass. When a secret place in Peter’s soul smiled, he added, “But Daddy’s boy came without permission, and he’s happy to bear any punishment Daddy sees fit.”

The older man whispered just for him, “Fuck, baby boy, you’re killing me.” Loud, he asked, “Are you ready for this?”

In unison the audience gasped. As if that question meant something. They stank of want and sweat, and his erect cock bobbed its agreement that Wade was about to shatter every expectation.

“Yes, please hurt me, Daddy.”

Their breathing had become inobtrusive—until it stopped. Even the sounds of the city faded.

A harsh crack broke the night, and with it came the pain, a sizzle across his back.

Another.

Another.

The sting dazzled.

“That’s how it’s gonna be; are you sure?” Wade punctuated his question with two rapid cracks at Peter’s feet.

“Yes, Daddy.” Though Peter choked on his own trepidation, he had the upper hand, even as he teetered on the razor’s edge of enduring Wade’s fiercest affections. The younger man couldn’t let this opportunity pass unexploited. “Whip your boy for coming without permission.” He cracked a crazed smile at the thought. A muffled keen brought his attention to the spectators for this sordid little shadow puppet show. “And let these people witness Daddy’s fuck bunny take the punishment he earned.” Topping from the bottom be damned, if Wade could possibly die from arousal, that would have sealed the man’s fate.

“Your wish, baby boy.” Cruel and seductive promises lurked in those purred words.

A second ticked by. Then two.

Still no pineapple.

The frozen expectation shattered when leather snapped up from his hip to his far shoulder. It barely cleared his back before the next quickfire crack unfurled, starting at the other hip. Peter clung to the bar, keeping himself upright by sheer strength of will while the tiger gained his stripes. This was his punishment, and he’d bear it if only for what came after. He might yet be teased mercilessly, but he’d eventually be given permission to come; that was what all these people had come to see.

In a single minute Wade completed a neat grid of welts, ten rows facing left and ten to the right. The entire structure screamed in Peter’s mind as he sagged. “Thank you, Daddy.” If not for muscle memory, he doubted he had the mental faculties to form the words.

“Tell me what you want.”

Another command.

Their audience was touching themselves now, after showing such restraint until this moment. As if Wade had planned that as well.

“Daddy, your boy…” Your boy ran out of preformed phrases before he could voice a cohesive thought. “Wanna come, Daddy. Please.”

“No, boy, tell me what you want me to do to you. Exactly. In excruciating detail.” Satisfaction laced every syllable. “Now.”

Peter’s cheeks flamed. Turn about was fair play, but damn was he unprepared for this. “Um…?”

Wade cooed, “What do you see in your mind’s eye, baby boy? How do you want me to make you come?”

The softer tone calmed Peter enough for him to say, “Suck me, Daddy. Will you suck your cock?” So many more images raged across his thoughts, but they were gone before he could express them.

Nevertheless that must have been enough. Wet heat engulfed him in pleasure, and he fought back the urge to shove deeper. The effort to keep his reflexive thrusts shallow brought him to tears. Well, that and Wade’s death grip on his bruised ass.

“Don’t you dare come before Daddy tells you to.”

Hurt, half his torso heavily marked, Peter quailed at the thought of further punishment. “No, Daddy.” When his need crested again, he begged in half-coherent gasps. “Please. Lemme. Need to, Daddy, lemme come!”

“Come for Daddy.”

Just a few hard thrusts and—

A jolt ripped from his ass as he shot come into his lover’s mouth. “Arguh! Daddy!” The first bead breached him, and his rim spasmed. A second forced its way free while Peter jerked. He keened as the third broke free and the rest followed.

Spent, shivering, weak, only the burrs on his hands held Peter upright. Strong arms pulled him free, wrapped him in a welcome embrace. The smattering of applause grew into a riot of sound at the edge of Peter’s tolerance.

“Damn, baby boy, that was crazy even for me.” Wade dropped into a folding chair with Peter still cuddled chest to chest. “The boxes are dead silent.”

The idea of the boxes being dead stabbed into Peter, and he sobbed despite understanding that it was a turn of phrase. “Are they okay?”

“Oh, you precious creature, they are so much more than okay. Yellow’s overwhelmed, catatonic with delight. White’s officially impressed. He gone silent simply because words can’t do you justice.”

Peter clung to Wade, fearful the other personalities might demand his affections before he received aftercare. “Daddy, I need you right now. Only you. Too much, Daddy, so much too much.”

The older man nodded his understanding. He smoothed Peter’s hair back. “Wild thing, I think you move me, but I wanna know for sure,” he sang, “C’mon over here and hold me tight. You move me.”

Happy to sit in Wade’s lap and be coddled, Peter waited until all the book club voyeurs had filed out before he asked, “Daddy, will you carry me to our room?”

“Your wish, my sweet princeling heartbreaker.”


	17. Day 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White proves to be a difficult box to tame.

“Hyperfocus.”

Peter blinked over his coffee cup at his boyfriend. “Um, what?” He felt a bit dim after a night of not being able to lay comfortably on his marked back.

“Hyperfocus. You and Stark. That’s how you stay in your lab until the puzzle’s solved.”

“I guess?” He shrugged; hyperfocus was as good a name as any for the way he worked.

Two handed Wade pinched his lover’s cheeks. “You take risks, enjoy rough sex—praise the gods of ink and puns, cuz I’d figured you’d tuck tail and run first time I asked you to hit me—and then you hole up for days sciencing away like some cute little mini-Star—eh, maybe a mini Banner. RDJ is killer hot, but Stark’s kinda an ass. So, yeah, a little mini Banner hunched over a microscope, looking all owl—Ew, no, Yellow! Get Banner’s lab coat offa him, you fuckwit! That shit ain’t sexy.”

Peter swatted him away. “Does any of this have a point?” He tried to hide his irritation, but he hadn’t been awake long enough for a serious discussion.

“The massive doses of caffeine, the constant search for stimulation—the bigger the better.” He waggled his brows suggestively. “Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s something. Maybe it’s not fair to expect you to take care of yourself.”

A flash of fury shot down Peter’s spine. Shaking, he set his coffee on the hotel nightstand to keep from spilling it. One deep breath. Two. A full ten, while Wade watched in eerie, expectant silence. “Holy shit, that is the single most insulting thing anyone has ever said about me.”

“’S not.” His lover peered down at the pale lagoon of carpet, distraught.

For the moment Peter was too pissed off to comfort him. Too pissed off for much of anything. “Pretty damned sure it is. I can take care of myself just fine, and I’m two seconds from walking out that door to prove it.”

“You never wonder how that Ferrari in your skull might be different from everyone else’s Toyota Coronary?”

Annoyance crinkled his brow and forehead. “Brain’s fine, Wade.”

“Never said it wasn’t, Petey-pie. I love that big gorgeous brain. Your sexiest of sex organs.” Wade wrapped around him like an octopus, knocking him to his back on the hibiscus sheets. “And it’s hard to beat my boy’s lovely cock.” He gave a crooked grin. “Course, ’m always up for that ol’ college try.”

“Lemme guess: Yellow’s screaming for you to distract me with sex,” Peter grumbled as his outrage faded toward his normal low annoyance from living with Deadpool’s impulsivity.

“Even a broken moron’s right twice a year.” The bigger man nuzzled Peter’s neck. “Or was that a stopwatch? Maybe a starter pistol? Eh, but what fun is a starter pistol when I got your hundred-percent real beef right here, baby boy?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you mix your metaph—?”

“Anyone ever tell you to shut up and enjoy?”

A single slick hand stole Peter’s breath as it pumped his stiffening cock. “Only you, Daddy.”

“’At’s better. Now be a good boy and lemme ruin you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Breathy and desperate already, he whimpered, such a shattered little sound.

Overwhelming want gnawed at Peter. Random muscles flexed and jerked. His stomach fluttered, along with damned near everything else. Like being punch-drunk, his thoughts came in starbursts, juts and starts, dying half-formed on the vine.

Even after a night with no hardware to tease and taunt, his body sang to the tune his lover played. Trained and responsive his mind surrendered to the bigger man’s will. Suspended outside the realm of the living, he drifted further from reality. Floating, like he’d been plunged deep underwater, all sound turned muffled and distant. Even when he opened his eyes, the shimmering, flickering visage of his lover refused to resolve into a coherent whole.

Other senses dulled, he could only feel, a tactile frenzy stirring an emotional storm, raw and brilliant. Big hands nearly circling his waist shoved his hips down to meet fierce thrusts. Small, powerless, battered, he rode out the tempest, while Wade took as he pleased from the younger man’s tight-strung body.

“Ask me to pound you into the mattress.”

No, wait, that wasn’t what Peter wanted to ask, was it? Ass up, face down, Daddy gripping his hips, driving him down, down, down, so far down, so very lost to the responsibilities that dominated him. Free.

“Please, Daddy, pound me. Take me. Use me.” Even as his world spun and twisted, he continued, “Please, Daddy, let me be your toy, your pleasure, your joy, your treasure.”

“Ooh, poetic. Daddy likey.”

“Fuck me like you hate me.”

A delighted rumble of laughter vibrated from Wade’s barrel chest. “Your wish, my sweet.”

With their renewed vigor Peter constricted in a head-to-toe shudder. “Please, Daddy, so close.”

“Hold out just a little longer, baby boy?”

“Yes, Da—gah, please! So good.” His pleasure had sharpened to a pain he could hardly tolerate, but Peter forced himself to still under the bigger man’s constant barrage. “Too much, so good, too much, Daddy.” Even his boyfriend’s super soft sheet burned his cheek as he skidded with each brutal stroke. “Please, Daddy!”

Wade shoved deep and froze, rigid as he pulsed inside Peter.

“Please, Daddy, may I, er, your boy come now? Daddy, please?”

The older man guided him up to kneeling and placed a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m so sorry, baby boy, but I need you good and primed for White tonight. Maybe you can shut up his sulking ass if you blow his fuckin’ mind.”

Long past shame Peter loudly mourned the potential of relief before replying, “Yes, Daddy.”

He left the Blasted Heath desolate in his unfulfilled desires. Once he immersed himself in his work, his discomfort grew tolerable. And he had every damned intention of hiding in Banner's lab until time to go home to White.

Hours later, FRIDAY asked, “Mr. Parker?” The automation sounded almost tentative.

“Hmm, yeah?” Peter’s brow furrowed as he noticed that Banner had left the lab, so lunchtime, maybe.

“Mr. Stark requests a moment of your time in his study before you leave today.”

Peter checked the time on his desktop, five minutes after he normally would have headed for home. “Um, sure, yeah, no problem…”

He shut everything down and followed FRIDAY’s prompts to an open door.

Inside Stark sat sideways in a tufted burgundy chair, sipping a drink and staring into space. “Look, kid, I know you skipped lunch today, and you’re here later than usual, so everything alright?”

“Ugh, yes, Mr. St—”

“Tony, please. And come in. Sit down. Be comfortable.”

“Yes, Tony. I’m fine.” For once in his life, Peter did as he was told without bucking. He was simply too spent to fight on principle. Besides the couch was the same wine color of one Aunt May had when he was little.

“For the overall welfare of everyone in a hundred-mile radius of Wilson, I gotta ask: You having issues with anorexia? Insomnia?”

“Anor—? No, I just had a lot on my mind and forgot to eat today. And sleep never comes easy, but I don’t need much with my healing factor. Why—? Er, I mean… No… Yeah: why in the hell are you watching me close enough to know I skipped a meal?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave his best Spidey glare.

Stark didn’t even bother looking up to see it. “Wilson called again yesterday. Several times.”

Peter dropped his head into his hands. “Do I even want to know?”

“Had a bunch of questions, like how often I skip meals, stay up all night, and what’s normal for egghead science nerds. His words.”

“Of course. I expected to have a nice, normal, quiet job here, honing my skills, pestering Dr. Banner should the chance arise, but no. Oh, no, Wade has to decide that there’s something wrong with my Ferrari brain. Basically said I can’t take care of myself, and now—”

The cocky engineer snorted a wry chuckle. “Ah.” He paused to add a few knowing head bobs, and Peter wished he could see the man’s facial expression. “I sure as shit can’t.”

“Um, what?” Peter gestured helplessly at everything and nothing. “But you…? And this…?”

“Yeah, this I can handle. My own care and feeding? Not so much.” He twisted to set his drink outside easy reach on the low coffee table. “Why do you think I poured so much into FRIDAY, essentially an amped up calendar and rolodex?”

“Because you could?”

“Half right. Because I could write a program to keep an eye on me, but I couldn’t remember to take care of myself.” He sat up, elbows to knees, with his hands tented. “Spidey been down to storage?” He met Peter’s eyes for the first time in their discussion.

“Not yet. Wade keeps me busy w—”

“So I’ve seen.”

“Shuddap.” Peter’s cheeks warmed.

Stark shoved to his feet. “C’mon. I want to show you the prototype since I have the time.”

The billionaire’s personal driver dropped Peter and a large black case containing the prototype at his apartment building an hour later than usual. “Thanks, Happy.”

The man nodded before driving away without a word.

Peter stared up at his own window. White would be there, anxious at the very least and catastrophizing if he were still upset. Guilty, Peter realized he should have called earlier.

Case in one hand, he fished his phone out as he bounded up the first flight of stairs. “Hey, White, I’m on the stairs right now. I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Mmm, if you were a sheep, ain’t nobody gettin’ virgin wool.” Mellow and calm? Or distracting Peter from the truth?

The muscles of Peter’s chest unclenched as the worst of his worries abated. “You are such a cheeseball.”

“Oh? So you heard about that cheese movie?”

The younger man rolled his eyes. “No.”

“It’s g-rated.”

“You suck.”

“You suck more.” The box cackled merrily. “More soft, more warm, more twink, more often…” Longing laced those words.

“Now you’re not even trying,” Peter teased. “More suck, more blow, more lick, more swallow.”

“Ah, you forgot more fuck.” Voice thick, the box added, “I need you.”

“Almost there.”

The call ended abruptly.

Peter checked the screen, fully functional by all appearances. A minute later and unsure of what to expect, he stepped through the door. Wade would have launched at him; Yellow would have tackled him to the ground. White merely flashed that serial killer grin.

Even so Peter was glad to see it. He almost said the box looked better than he expected, but he wanted to hear the truth from the man himself. “How was your day?”

“Shit.” He flourished a hand at Peter’s crotch like a magician directing the audience’s attention. “Right up until my Peter walked in.”

Peter shook his head at that double entendre. “I’m glad it’s better now.”

White wore a shabby tux trimmed in ratty peacock feathers and an oversized top hat with antlers covered in flowering vines and fake insects. The reason became obvious when Peter noted the price written in marker on a playing card tucked into the hat band: 10/6p.

“So I’m your Alice this evening?” he asked as he set the case down by the couch.

“That ingrate serpent? Most certainly not. My Peter is no juvenile tart.” White gave a haughty sniff. “You’re the vixen.”

“Vixen?” Peter racked his brain. “Um, I don’t remember there being a fox in Wonderland.”

Those crazy eyes bored into the younger man; if not mellow, they appeared a bit less manic and considerably less pained than during their previous encounters. “Well of course they have a fox. They have a reven don’t they?”

“Reven? Not a raven?” the younger man asked as he crossed the room.

“Never! Who’s ever heard of inviting a raven like a writing desk for crumpets and tea? Stupid editor should have known to leave well enough alone.”

“So I see.” Peter sidled close enough to caress his lover’s scarred face.

White ran his hands across the smaller man’s chest before pulling him into a possessive embrace. “Your Daddy wanted to defile foxy Peter before I could enjoy your company, but no, I rather think I prefer my vixen pristine. Untouched by that oaf. Too bad for him.”

So they were fighting over him? “Have you considered that the three of you would all have a better life if you antagonized each other less.”

“Ah, and there you are being more again. More Peter. More adorable. More cherished.” His kiss tasted of chocolate. “No, Wade needs to pay for ever placing a hand on such perfection.”

“Time to drop it, White.” Warning laced Peter’s tone, but he focused on the affection he felt for the wounded box.

“Hmph. For you, my sweet. Anything for you.” His lover pulled back and dangled a long light-purple ribbon. “I’m thinking today is a formal occasion.”

Peter offered his neck until he concluded White held a toddler’s bowtie. While the box tapped his toe in a comic caricature of impatience, the younger man reasoned out his lover’s expectation and lowered his pants.

A click revealed the sleight of hand, and White released Peter from his cage. “Now off you go. Get cleaned up. I’ll dress you when you come out.”

The smaller man scoffed. “Sometimes I think you two are at each other’s throats simply for being too much alike.”

“You take that back!” The box still seemed amused, but oh, that lopsided grin held murderous intent.

“I’ll leave it alone, but I’ll not lie to you.”

White nodded, still brooding. “Off you go then. I’m a busy, busy box.”

“C’mere.” Peter opened his arms and waited until the reluctant box settled into his embrace. “I love you.”

“You love them more.”

That hit hard every damned time. How could he disprove such an accusation when it might even be true? “They are easier. You’re right; they are. I’ve admitted it before, and I’ll admit it again.” Peter sighed. “Just because you’re harder to love doesn’t mean I’m playing favorites. I enjoy my time with you. I’m here whenever you need me, however you need me.” He steered them to the couch and settled with White’s head in his lap. Touch gentle, he followed the scars of his lover’s scalp. “You’re no less precious, no less loved.”

“I’m the monster, aren’t I? Wade, he is what he is: a lowbrow, half-literate degenerate. Me? I know better. Yet I still want to watch the world burn. Only fair after all the shit I’ve been through.”

With no mention of Yellow, Peter hummed in thought. “So tell me about it.”

“I can’t.” White turned toward Peter’s knees, unwilling to face him.

“Then tell me what you want me to know.”

“Everyone I’ve ever loved is dead.”

“I’m here.”

The bigger man shrugged off any consolation. “Before that. Before this. Before everything. One fell swoop. All gone. And I’m here forever.”

Peter nodded, unconcerned that White’s biography didn’t remotely match Wade’s. “I have you. I have Aunt May for a little longer. I lost Mary Jane. Everyone else is dead.” Since White didn’t soften the statement with a euphemism, neither did he.

“All the more reason this world should suffer like we suffer.”

“All the more reason we protect people from suffering like we’ve suffered,” Peter corrected.

“See, I’m the monster.”

“Maybe I like monsters.” He shifted to lay face to face with the box. “Maybe I like you.” He lifted the box’s chin from his chest. “Maybe I love you.”

White blinked and tried to pull away.

“Maybe I want”—Peter lifted his lover’s hands overhead and held them in one of his own—“my very own monster, as evil and wicked as they come.”

Skeptical White asked, “Why would you want that? Me?”

“Does it matter?”

Again the box tried to pull back, but tight between his lover and the couch back, he wasn’t going anywhere. “Maybe. Depends.”

Humping against his boyfriend’s hard abs to soothe has aching cock, Peter growled close to White’s ear. “Maybe I like the idea of a big, nasty, dangerous, inhuman, vicious demon who answers only to me. Like that just my presence keeps big, bad, evil Deadpool’s kill count near zero.”

White purred out, “Ah, always the power trip."

“Always the power trip,” Peter agreed. Still grinding in need, he nipped the bigger man’s lower lip. “Always.”

“Bet I run faster horny than you do scared.” Eyes manic, grin sharp, the box regained his usual vigorous cruelty.

“’M not scared, so the world may never know.” Peter could only hope that wouldn’t be misconstrued as a challenge.

“Should be. Should be petrified.” His lover’s body twitched, and then he winced. “But I won’t hurt you; I’ll make you feel so, so good.”

When White hooked a leg over Peter’s hips and returned the fevered rut, the smaller gasped with the unsated desire that had simmered all day. _Oh._ Wade’s callous refusal earlier made more sense now. “’M already feelin’ pretty damn good.” He cupped the fabric over the bigger man’s package.

“No.” Grip crushing at his wrist, White moved his hand to the big man’s chest.

“Then what?” Peter’s heart thudded against his breastbone, his arousal already painful.

“These pants on the floor.” White snapped the waistband of Peter’s briefs. Together they worked his underwear and khakis over his hips and down his legs, pulling his socks and shoes off with them. The box snagged Peter’s jaw in an unforgiving grip. “Such blatant disregard for safety procedures, a box could die from the way you wriggle.”

At the bigger man’s rough handling, Peter’s cock jumped and his abs clenched, forcing out a wanton moan. “Whanna install a handrail?” The words felt heavy on his tongue. Desperate, he pressed his solid erection against the box’s clothed body, his eyes rolling back.

“Mebby next time. Stan dup,” the box slurred, as gone as Peter.

With fraying will, he reeled himself back from the very edge of release. “Yes, White.” He scrambled up to stand, throbbing around his plug, erection primed for release. Instinct drove him to thrust his hips, and he whimpered at the lack of contact.

“Mmm, pretty pretty.” White rolled from the couch to his knees and pulled Peter closer. “And you taste as good as you look. Hold up your shirttail.” Pupils blown wide he gazed up as he wrapped his lips around Peter’s hard-on.

The wet heat left the younger man trembling. Big, muscular hands sank a firm grip into his abused ass. White set an agonizing pace, always not quite enough. As stars bloomed across his vision, Peter struggled to slow his hopeless draws for air, each huffed exhale a keening prayer for release.

He clung to his shirt in his efforts to restrain himself. Until the fabric ripped. Hands free, he grabbed White’s head. Barely able to hold back his crushing strength, he took his relief with a few quick, choking thrusts. Hunching, shivering, wavering, his vision tunneled before he remembered to breathe.

After milking the smaller man dry, White pulled off with a pop. A corner of his lip quirked, vaguely amused. “Aw, my little saddle pony, I’m gonna ride you like there’s no tomorrow.”

Delirious from lack of oxygen, Peter wheezed, “Yes, Daddy.” He sprang back before registering the wail of his spidey sense. With a summersault he landed in a crouch on his desk, his body flooding with adrenaline.

“Damn you.” Murder danced in White’s eyes as he stood in the middle of the room.

“And damn you too. ’M not the kinda guy who knows how to keep three lovers straight. What the hell do you expect?”

Flashing a sharp, toothy smile, White prowled closer. “I expect you to know who just blew your mind.”

“My boyfriend. The man I love. I do know.” Peter scowled, angry that White had taken offense to a mistake that was bound to happen.

The raging box crumpled, toppled to his knees, the embodiment of pure misery. “No, I’m not.”

“Okay. You’re not,” Peter agreed in an effort to soothe the box. Slow and wary now that the warnings died to a low hum, the younger man eased forward. “But I don’t understand.”

“I’m not just another part of the meatsuit’s shattered mind. I’m trapped in here.”

Peter nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be more careful. ’M sorry.” He stopped just outside the distraught box’s reach. “I don’t know how to help.”

“I’m beyond help.” Hopeless disgust laced the words. “I hate it when we fight. I don’t want to ruin this.”

“Okay.” Peter raised both empty hands. “I don’t wanna fight either.”

“Just go take a shower, would you? Let me get my head together?”

He reached out but hesitated. “Will it be okay if I hug you first?”

“Please.” The dam broke, and a sob burst from White. “Please give me another chance.”

“Hey, it’s not like that.” Peter wiped a tear from his lover’s cheek and pulled the big man to his chest. “I knew what I was getting into when I—”

“There was an old woman who lived by a well, and when she died she went directly to—what did you want, prose or poetry?”

“No problemo, dropping the subject. No reason we gotta go to hell tonight.” With a wry smile he whispered against his lover’s scarred cheek, “And thank you for that little slice of heaven, White.”

“My sincere pleasure. Now off you go.” White smacked his rear hard enough to make him yip. “Tea’s late already.”

The smaller man rubbed the stinging handprint as he slinked away. “’M gonna remember that when I’m pounding your ass.”

“By all means,” White called after him, “please do.”

Peter decided on a long, luxurious shower to ensure White had whatever time he needed. When the younger man appeared from the bathroom in a haze of steam, he gasped at the transformation of their living area. A cool sea of vibrant pastel streamers hung from perfect giant bows arranged every foot along one wall. The unfamiliar music had a rich, symphonic quality. A delicate pattern of blood-red rosebuds with golden trim decorated the royal purple tea service. Places for two were set on a lace tablecloth in pale lilac. A pair luncheon plates sat beside a three-tier platter, which held macarons in mint green and sky blue, scones with butter, and two small savory pies, not enough to fill either man but quite artful. Brassy gold ribbon meandered through the spars of both dining chairs. Sprays of hyacinth vines and thistle blooms burst across every surface. At the earthy floral scent, he realized, _Real flowers._

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were a busy, busy box.” Peter chuckled as he presented his freshly toweled body for the box to dress.

White crossed his arms with a huff. “Your Daddy insists that your correction is later than my tea.”

“Then will you correct your Peter for failing to give you proper credit for one mind-blowing blowjob?”

That won a pleased hum from the box. “Only with great reluctance.”

“Aw, c’mon.” From a sweeping overhead gesture, he slapped his own ass and instantly regretted it. Though he’d never admit to such an err in judgement. “You know you wanna swat this.”

“You’re too good for such blasphemy. But since you asked.” Using one foot he nudged a chair out and spun it to a decent position. “Those thighs won’t know what hit them.”

Peter gripped the seat, prepared for anything.

A hand followed the yellowed grid still lingering on his back. “The meatsuit did okay. Nicely parallel with even angles. Too bad we aren’t through the looking glass. This would make a fine chessboard.”

“Gasp!” Peter bit his lip to stifle a chuckle. “Did you just pay Wade a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“No, White.” He wiped the smirk off his face with a hand. “I know you both far too well for that.”

With a cackle from the box, the assault started too fast and too hard. Strands of bees wrapped across his thighs, and he shifted from one leg to the other trying to save himself. The searing anguish worked down to his calves and made it back to his ass for a few stingers that would leave him sitting tenderly through their meal.

“Switch dance. Haven’t seen that in a while.”

A fat tear rolled down Peter’s nose to plop on the seat. Voice watery he asked, “Hold me now? Please?’

White pulled him into that impressive chest. “Shh, Peter. Careful what you wish; you just might get it.”

“I know. Just hurts.” The smaller man sniffled. “That switch is a cruel little motherhugger.”

A wistful sigh drew Peter’s attention to the box’s heartbroken expression. “I’ve done my share of dancing to that tune.”

“Oh?”

“Momma tried so hard to beat the devil outta me.” White set the willowy branch on the table.

Peter snorted. “Must have been a full-time job.”

“Not back then. I was a good boy.” He nuzzled into Peter’s neck. “Almost as good as you.”

With a blush, the younger man changed the subject. “So, vixen, you say?”

“Ah, yes!” The plush ombre-purple tail that materialized in the box’s hand was every bit as long as Peter’s legs. “Lean over.” White took his time, teasing as he replaced the black plug with the fox tail.

The first swish across Peter’s welted thighs, and he was instantly in love with the sensation. “Holy hand grenades, that’s intense.”

White placed a headband with fox ears and wide antlers in Peter’s still damp hair. “Your Daddy’s seething with jealousy. And shouting something about killer rabbits.” He added an overly large top hat in that same pale lilac hue. “But it was my idea in the first place. Present your unmentionable fun jollies.”

After taking a step back, the younger man watched the box skillfully tie that bowtie around his dick. “So a formal tea?”

“Indeed.” White cocked his head to one side before offering his hand. “Will you join me?”

“I’d be delighted.” Inner life stilled by the pain, Peter watched in meek wonder as his hand rose, rested atop that meaty ham, which guided him to the chair he’d used since his second year in college, now gilded and unfamiliar like the room around him. “It’s really gorgeous, White. I love the china.”

“Ill Week plunder passed down more than a dozen generations before the set reached this dead end with me.” With a wistful sigh the box slid Peter’s chair forward. “Relics. Never could make myself throw them out.”

Questions rose in the back of Peter’s mind, but he knew better than to ask them. Instead he accepted this precious glimpse into White’s world at face value. Whether the box’s history were real or imagined changed nothing.

“Darjeeling in its second flush,” White commented absently as he filled both teacups. “How do you take it?”

“Um…?” Peter blinked dumbly.

“One sugar, since it’s less astringent than your coffee.” The box placed the cup and saucer by Peter’s plate. As they ate and chatted, bittersweet nostalgia settled over White, and he had memories to share about everything: Patty Hearst’s kidnapping, the national speed limit, banning red dye #2, the release of Star Wars. “A few months later Elvis died. The whole nation went into mourning like they’d all lost a favorite fat uncle. Such a lack of dignity and decorum.”

“So… you’re older than Wade?”

“Yeah, by six years, not ‘original gangster’ like your Boomer ass.” He swept a hand over his body, the gesture disgruntled and mildly angry. “Never fully fleshed but at least this author is taking enough liberties to make me demi-human with a complete backstory.”

“Uh, Boomer?” Stumped by that, Peter set down his teacup before protesting, “I’m a Millennial, way younger than Wade’s GenX ass.”

“You’d like to think so.” White chuckled. “He didn’t exist before 91. But you? You’re the darling. You appeared way back in 1962 and remain the most beloved.”

Peter had nothing to say to that. Instead he scrunched his nose, certain all three of Wade’s personalities found it adorable.

With a soft laugh White added, “And that charm is how you quickly became Stan Lee’s favorite.”

Mindful of the delicate porcelain, just in case the box was correct about its antiquity, Peter took another sip of tea. Wade and his boxes might live in a world so completely lost to reality, but he found it so disgustingly sweet that they swore the younger man was their god Stanley’s favorite. “Honestly, I’ve always suspected my creator hates me.” He scoffed, failing to inject levity into those harsh words. He had to challenge this bs, before he started believing it. “Hey, if you’re younger than me, how do you explain being a kid in the 70s?”

“I was about your age now when I was created.” White chortled as he finished the last macaron. “I think one of the reasons you’ve always been the favorite is how young you were, just a teen. Though you’ve never stayed young long, it was still groundbreaking at the time.”

“I’ll remember that next time someone calls me kid.” Table empty of food, Peter turned his attention to the nearest flower. And promptly found himself bleeding. “Interesting choice. Why thistles?” he asked before sticking his offended finger in his mouth.

“We were nominally Scots.” White replied as if the rest should be self-explanatory. “Nominally.”

Thistles and unicorns, the symbols of Scotland, maybe it did explain everything.

Sparkles, Wade’s fleshlight unicorn plushie, made ominous sense as an assault on White’s heritage. Even if Wade no longer remembered why he associated unicorns with sex, the box would certainly repay spite like that in spades. More bullets to the head meant more lost memories, leaving White alone to carry the burden of remembering every barb and cut of their grudge. No wonder he considered his life hell.

_Of course, considering Wade’s sense of fabulous, Sparkles could just as easily be a coincidence._

White stretched his legs, then stood. “Care to join me for a stroll to the bedroom?”

“Sounds nice.”

Happy to leave behind the impossible ponderings that floated in his imagination, Peter accepted the offered hand and let the box guide him to his feet. He’d been ignoring the steady throb of his ass for the entire meal, but the instant the tail swished across his thighs, all those beestings roared to life.

Trembling in White’s arms, he gasped. “So intense.”

The box cackled, though the sound remained soft, even gentle. “I’ll never understand but I’m pleased you’re amused.” He tilted Peter’s head to expose the side of his neck for kisses that left him fluttery.

“I’ll never understand. I never expected to enjoy bootcamp. Figured I’d feel beat down and throw in the towel long before now.” The smaller man groaned as the box nipped at the corded muscle under the skin. “You’re in quite a mood today.”

“I’m… content,” White confessed. “I’ve very much enjoyed our time together. It’s been too long since I last spoke of what came before.” He sighed with the weight of the world. “Too long since I’ve had a friend to listen.”

“I’ve had fun too.” Peter wanted to say Wade could be the box’s friend, but he doubted White would ever allow that. Instead the younger man brought those wandering lips to his own. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the seam of his lover’s mouth. Granted access, he swirled and darted, tasting the sweet of his boyfriend.

Heart brimming with affection, Peter gathered the bulk of the man into his arms and whisked him away to drop him onto the bed. The younger man set both hats aside. He removed the bowtie from his own penis before peeling off White’s jacket… his pants… his shirt… his underwear. “Still a thrill every damned time I get you naked.”

“Not sure thrill is the word I’d use.”

“Hmph.” Peter ran his tongue across his teeth as he squeezed a tantalizing biceps. “Why not? You’re ripped.”

“The skin—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He licked the inside of one wrist, letting his tongue slide slowly to savor the unique texture. “The only time I care is when it hurts worse than usual. Now that you’re taking better care of yourself, that’s what? Once? Twice a month?”

“Once every 25.7 days on average,” White replied.

“A vast improvement over rotting to the bone because Wade refused to take off his leathers.” The older man had needed months before he felt his skin healed enough to let Peter see more than a few incidental glimpses.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Peter wanted to grind that fact into White’s mind, but he suspected the box would balk rather than consider how his war on Wade damaged him as much as anyone. “I get really pissed off when—” Well Easy Cheese straight out of the can, this was not what Peter had planned for the evening.

“Yeah. I know.” White turned away.

The smaller man curled protectively around his lover, knocking his antlers askew in the process. “I’d appreciate some restraint, but I don’t expect it.”

The box gave a weak but thoughtful hum. “Yeah, I’ll try.” He still sounded closed off and wary, like he expected some harsh punishment passed down from on high.

“If I figure out some way to make your past weigh easier on you, are you on board?”

“Maybe.” The word sounded disinterested.

“Okay, later then.” Peter hoped his sigh didn’t sound as exasperated as he felt. “I’d like to talk to you face to face.”

“Don’t want you to see.”

“Dammit, White…” Peter buried his face at the back of the bigger man’s neck. “Why can’t we have a nice, relaxing evening?” As sobs shook his boyfriend’s body, he added, “Hey, it’s okay; I’m just frustrated. That’s all. Nothing insurmountable.”

“That! That’s why!”

“You feel like a monster?” Peter guessed.

“I am a monster.”

“And I like monsters.”

“That whole power trip is a farce, and we both know it.” White sniffled. “I’m a monster, Yellow is a moron, and the meatsuit is a brute. You don’t belong here, don’t deserve our shit.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re too good for us.”

Tired of the same argument, Peter wrapped an arm around White and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Mine.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up—”

“Mine. Mine. Mine,” Peter repeated.

“But you’re way too—”

“Mine.”

White snorted his annoyance. “I may not be a proctologist, but I know an asshole when he won’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

“Now you’re getting the picture.” Peter growled into the sensitive skin at the box’s nape and watched the goosebumps rise. “But I’m not the asshole of interest at the moment.”

“How?” White chuckled as he rolled in Peter’s arms until he faced the smaller man. “You thirsty little slut. How can you be horny?”

“You see, when a man has stripes of white-hot lava across his thighs to remind him that he loves a box very, very much…”

“You are one twisted little minx.”

“Mmm, so very twisted.” Peter pulled his lover on top of him. “You gonna be my favorite mistake?”

“What about the moron and the meatsuit?” Though White’s tone teased, his voice waivered.

“What about my favorite moron and my favorite meatsuit? What, you don’t want to be my favorite mistake?” Peter’s grin grew sharp as inspiration struck. “My favorite monster then.”

White pulled his face to his chest, suddenly bashful.

“So that’s it: you like being my favorite monster.” The younger man pulled down on those wide hips as he ground up against the box. “Like being the monster I wanna shove my cock inside.”

White absolutely whimpered in his grip.

Peter had learned a few tricks from Wade over the last weeks. “Say it.”

“I like being your favorite monster.” The admission pulled a giggle from the box.

“And?”

“I like being the monster you plan to fuck.” White positively beamed.

“So what are you doing just sitting there? Lube it up and shove it in.” Peter straightened his antlers and put both hands behind his head to show that he planned to watch for the time being.

Features soft with contentment or maybe appreciation—no, probably adoration, Peter decided—White hummed as he lubed the smaller man’s cock and brought it to brittle hardness. Peter rested his hands on wide, taut thighs as the box aligned their bodies. When those thighs relaxed, that firm ring of muscle squeezed its way down his erection, sheathing him in heat.

True to his word, White closed his eyes, planted a hand on the smaller man’s chest, leaned his head back, and used those massive thighs to ride Peter like a painted pony. _So much power._ Eyes closed, mouth open, the box moaned his pleasure while his inner muscles fluttered along Peter’s length.

Peter rose to an elbow so he could caress his lover’s face. “You are so painfully beautiful like that, I can hardly bear to watch.”

Too far gone to protest, White caught one of his fingers and sucked it into his mouth.

“Ready to be pounded?” the younger man asked in a breathless gasp.

White continued to fuck himself and suck Peter’s finger as he nodded.

“Say it.”

“Please, love how rough—” A shiver rolled through the bigger man’s body. “Show me how much you like how I make you feel.”

Oh, Peter hadn’t anticipated that answer. “So good.” He latched onto his lover’s hips, pulling down as he thrust upward. “Love it.” He pulled the bigger man to his chest and rolled them. “Love you.”

Now he just needed to make White believe him.

“So loved.” As the box clung to him, mouth frozen in a silent scream somewhere between agony and ecstasy, Peter took long, slow strokes, intending to drag out their encounter until he’d wrung every iota of pleasure from the bigger man’s writhing body. “Mmm, my fave’rit monster.” Never relenting that slow grind, he wrapped a hand loosely, just above his lover’s clavicles. “Never wanna let you go.”

White whimpered under him, the note high and pleading.

“Tell me.”

“Please—” A tremble cut off the box with an airy gasp. Gorgeous in his torment, he rolled his hips into Peter’s thrust in a desperate effort to gain friction along his gorged cock.

“Nuh-uh-uh, good monsters don’t take what they want. My good monster asks.”

“Gonna kill Wade for teaching you that.”

“Poor monster box.” Peter snickered at the pique that settled into his lover’s pleading features. “So do you want me to let go of your throat and jack that luscious cock instead?”

White’s lips worked for a few moments before he croaked, “Yes.”

Though Peter would have eagerly fucked him longer, that would work against him if the box blamed Wade for the long tease. “Okay.” He fisted the hard-on that bobbed desperately between them. “Do you feel how much I love you?” _Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes._

Tears overflowed White’s tightly closed eyes. “Peter.”

_Close enough. _Grip firm Peter ended each stroke with a flick of his wrist. His boyfriend’s features etched in anguish, he concentrated on the bigger man’s relief. “I got you. Promise, sweetheart, I got you.”

White relaxed just the tiniest bit before he spasmed. Shoulders off the bed, the first stream of jizz splashed across his rock-solid abs. Pulsing in Peter’s grip, he hitched and moaned before gasping, “Enough. Please, no more.”

With delicate care, Peter pulled out. Kneeling between White’s shaking thighs, the smaller man jerked his raging hard-on until glistening pearls of his own come joined the rest drying on his lover’s stomach.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. “Just gonna get us cleaned up.”

“’Kay.” White’s lids fell and his body went slack. “Be right here.”

Peter scrubbed himself down with soap and water before sitting on the closed toilet lid to consider how much he’d learned about White in the last couple of hours. The box had a serious grudge against Wade, something no amount of mind-blowing sex would fix. Still, for the first time, Peter believed that the box trusted him enough to let his façade slip away entirely. That would have to be enough for now.

Warm, damp rag in hand, Peter returned to find Wade sitting against the headboard. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Oh, baby boy, that’s one exhausted box. You done wore that crusty ol’ bastard down to a nub.”

“Is he through sulking?” Peter stroked the damp rag along his boyfriend’s hairless stomach.

“Hmph, he can barely box. He won’t be doing anything for a while.” Wade snagged his wrist and pulled him in for a chaste kiss. “Good work, baby boy.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Peter shook his head as he chuckled at the ridiculousness of life. “Oh! Hey, wanna see something cool?”

“Maybe? Whacha got?”

“Iron Spider prototype. Stark and I will need to finalize some details, but as far as I can tell it’s ready to hit the streets and see how it does on tonight’s patrol.”

“By all means, baby boy, I definitely wanna see what your other sugar daddy cooked up for your luscious ass.”

Red as a beet, Peter hung his head. “Oh, for all that’s good in the world, don’t ever call Stark that again.”

“Which reminds me: You never gave me your bank info. I swear, Petey-wheaty-kins, I’m only putting money in, not taking any out.”

“Gah, can’t we deal with that later? I wanna show you the new spider suit.”

Wade stretched before getting to his feet. “Sure, baby boy, lead the way.”


	18. Day 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White's still a hard box to love.
> 
> And I made us a pic while I was practicing photo manipulation.
> 
> Hmph, and PhotoBucket's free service no longer hosts images. When did that happen? Let's see if this works...

“How come ‘you’re a peach’ is a complement but ‘you’re bananas’ is an insult? Why do we allow fruit discrimination to tear society apart?”

Peter cracked open a single eye.

Wade was gripping his delicate hand, had it clenched around the bigger man’s cock, pumping slowly. “Ah, good, Princeling Peach is awake. I need somewhere to put my come.”

With a groan Peter pressed his free hand to his forehead. “Charming.”

The older man snorted in mock offense. “What? Which would you rather, a crusty sock or a hard fuck?”

“How about four hours of uninterrupted sleep?” Peter rolled away and pulled the blanket over his shoulder.

“But, Petey, I get bored and lonely. And horny. ’Sides, your alarm goes off in ten minutes.” He grabbed a handful of hair to raise the smaller man’s head, slid his arm under, and pulled Peter snug to him. “Hmm, maybe a power up will help.”

A foreign thrum made Peter jolt; the plug inside him vibrating. “That’s cheating.”

“Anything worth having is worth cheating to get, and dat boo-tay is definitely worth hacking Mario Kart for infinite bananas. Speaking of cheating…” Wade ran his thumb up the smaller man’s throat, forcing his head back to growl into his ear, “Seems someone touched himself yesterday. No, not just touched. Jerked himself off during bootcamp. Like a boy who doesn’t trust Daddy to see to his needs.”

Between White and the new suit, Peter had entirely forgotten he wasn’t allowed to masturbate. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Don’t think sorry’s gonna cut it, baby boy.” That hand tightened, not a choke but a passible illusion of one that had the younger man moaning raggedly and gripping his lover’s forearm. “Been thinking about your punishment all night.” Rutting his rock-solid erection against Peter’s ass, Wade reached around to jostle the smaller man’s caged cock before reaching under to roll his balls in a single palm. “So many options.”

Already panting, Peter swallowed thickly and moistened his lips. “Yes, Daddy.” He throbbed in anticipation of what Wade might do, how he might revel in Peter’s slip.

“Inspection time.”

Abruptly Peter lay alone in the bed. He’d barely opened the first button of his pyjamas when dazzling light sizzled through the room. Eyes squeezed tight against the burn, he managed to shed the soft cocoon. He aligned his body with the blinding fury of the overhead light to ensure the ex-merc had a perfect view of his plugged and caged undercarriage.

“Good boy. You can put your hands down and turn your head to breathe now.” Wade hmmed and huffed as he tapped his boy’s hardware and ran his hands over each vestigial mark from the days prior. “Bootcamp’s definitely become too easy.”

Peter wanted to protest, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered pineappling out or reassured himself he could endure one more day.

“Don’t worry, baby boy; I’ll fix that.”

“Yes, Daddy.” What else could he say?

“But first…” Wade plucked the plug from Peter’s body, leaving him barren and bereft. “I’m gonna pump my boy’s fine ass full of leche de Deadpool.”

“Please, Daddy.” A nudge made his rim spasm in anticipation. “Please. Need you inside me.”

“Your wish, baby boy.”

One smooth roll of the big man’s hips impaled Peter, making him hiss with the initial sting. The next sank to the hilt inside him, a satisfying fullness that left him keening for more. A meaty forearm on his back and a hand snared in his hair pulled him into a deep bend to meet his lover’s affections. Breathy kisses trailed down his neck even as his lover railed into him.

The intoxicating pleasure built steadily, low in Peter’s body, leaving him drizzling from his cage. “Oh, Daddy, so good.” With a grab behind him for anything that might hold him steady, he clung to the back of the bigger man’s head and quivered as he rocked into each violent thrust. Big hands grabbed both his hips and jerked him into a final harsh stroke. Fingertips bruising smooth pale flesh, Wade nipped the back of his boy’s neck as he jetted liquid heat into the smaller man’s receptive body.

He didn’t even pull out before commanding in a raspy whisper, “Go to your corner. Chest to thighs, wrap your arms around your knees.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Reluctant, on the verge of resentful from the rampant need churning his body and mind, Peter crawled forward until his lover popped free, leaving him empty, ravenous in his want. Yet he’d broken his chastity, again, and the fear of Helen had him on his best behavior. Nonetheless a whimper escaped him as his cock strained against its cage, his ache deep and cutting.

Wade pressed something cool and hard to his rim. “Ask Daddy for your paci.”

Instantly overheated in his mortification, Peter resented that command. But he loathed the emptiness inside him more. “Please, Daddy, may your boy have his paci?” His obedience was rewarded with the barest pressure, a tease of the only comfort he expected for his raging desire.

“You want to suck on your paci while Daddy gets ready for your correction?”

“Yes, Daddy.” _Dammit, Wade, please!_ Frustration crushed his chest, leaving him pliable to any of the bigger man’s whims.

“Then all you have to do is say so, baby boy.”

Peter gritted his teeth even as his body strained for the plug just outside his reach. “Please, Daddy, your boy wants to suck on his paci—aaaugh!” That was not his usual plug; his rim stretched tight as Wade jammed it through his spasming ring of muscle. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Mmm, sparkly. Definitely worth every penny of five grand.”

So the bigger plug from James Bond night. “Thank you, Daddy.” Peter sighed in relief as his body pulsed around the dense weight.

Between the larger, heavier plug and the harder, longer paddling, Peter’s workday started in a haze. He squirmed while the echo of those big hands reminded him how perfectly he belonged in their breathtakingly cruel embrace. Though he missed Wade at lunch, he and Banner had sandwiches in the lab and managed decent small talk like baseline, normal humans.

Sort of.

When turtles came up, Peter commented, “I mean, I knew, of course I knew, their shells are made of ribs, but it seemed perfectly normal... Until I considered the convergent evolution with arthropods. And now it's weird. Really weird. Like, ‘humans now have the option to add rib shells to our dna as part of a supersoldier program’ weird. We can make bioengineered turtle soldiers a reality, and I’m not certain I’m okay with this.”

Banner nodded sagely. “I see where you’re going: Just because we can doesn’t mean we should, but turtle soldiers!”

“Exactly.” Peter laughed. “Don’t tell Wade. He’d want to train them as ninjas; I heard him mention it before.”

Pleased at the inroads he’d made with his reticent lab mate, Peter’s workday ended on a major high note.

The instant he opened the door to their apartment, Wade greeted him with, “Were you able to keep Daddy’s happy juice safe inside Daddy’s boy all day long?” The naked man sat in a kitchen chair turned backward, Helen held loosely in one hand.

_Wilson, you’re an idiot, but damn, do I love you. _“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” He turned and placed Helen by the paddle on the table before beckoning Peter close enough to touch, to kiss, to explore. “I love how soft you are. Love how you respond, always so eager, so desperate for me. Love how you let me ruin this pristine perfection.” He settled his face against Peter’s crotch and inhaled deeply. “Ungh, correction and punishment can wait. Time for your next dose of happy juice, baby boy. Strip down to those lace panties, put your work clothes away, then present on the bed however you want Daddy to take you.”

Peter met his beloved’s gaze as he unbuttoned his shirt. He held the cloth out from his chest, revealing a flash of skin, before slipping it off entirely. After toeing off his shoes, he shimmied from his pants, the heavy plug making him clench in pulses with his motions. Ensuring the bigger man had an excellent view of the dancing jewel, he bent down to peel the socks from his feet.

“Thank you, Daddy.” He kissed the crown of the bigger man’s bald head.

Wade wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s thighs and pulled them wide, forcing Peter to straddle him, chair and all. “Ngh, home less than a minute and you already have me rigid as a tent stake.”

Flushed from the way that big, dangerous man could never get enough, Peter wriggled in his embrace. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Off you go now. Be a good boy. You’re already due for a punishment and a correction. Hate to see you earn more before we head out for patrol.” The older man cuffed his ass just to make it jiggle.

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter ensured he had all his clothes, then scampered into the bedroom.

Wade followed a few minutes later, carrying a car battery and jumper cables and _smiling_. “So, my little genius, what do you know about the conductivity of platinum?”

At the small of his back, Peter’s hands grappled into the sheet. Even as his imagination ran wild, he readily pulled up the information his Daddy requested and recited in an even voice: “It’s about a quarter as conductive as gold, but four times as conductive as titanium. It resists oxidation, so it makes an effective electrode for electrochemical cells that would rapidly corrode aluminum, copper, silver, or gold, though it’s surface changes much more than previously thought.”

“Interesting.” Wade purred the word, infusing every syllable with dark pleasure. “Did you know that carbon steel has crap conductivity?”

Peter had to swallow before he could croak, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Imagine my embarrassment when it got glowing hot instead of frying the fucker.” The big man barked a harsh laugh. “Got the job done. Just not how I expected.”

That repulsive and horrifying peek into the ex-merc’s mind conveyed that Wade understood the dangers, and Peter managed to calm enough to keep from pissing the bed. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, still afraid of me? I’m hurt, Petey-pie.”

After untensing his muscles by force of will, Peter replied, “I do trust you, Daddy, but I also know exactly how dangerous you are.”

“That’s my—dammit, fine—our good, smart boy.” Wade placed the battery and cables on the floor before climbing into the bed beside the younger man. “You’re absolutely right: we’re never going to be safe. Pull your arms free, baby boy.” Once he lifted Peter’s package from his black lace panties, the serrated edge of the key ran from his sternum to his cage. “But as long as I know it’s you, I’m your slave. And the boxes are just as hopelessly ensnared in your web.” Kisses followed the same trail down his body as two hands worked his cage open. “I’ll be whatever you want, whatever you need.” Their eyes locked together while strong thick fingers circled his plug before easing it free. “Anything you ask, it’s yours.” He chuckled low and evil. “With a few exceptions for your own amusement.”

Wincing from the stretch, Peter gawped up at Wade in pure awe. “Yes, Daddy,” he wheezed; “please, Daddy, fuck me.”

The big man smirked as if he knew every secret written on his lover’s soul. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer we made love to you?”

That tiny, stuttering whimper had to be the most pathetic sound Peter had ever made in his life. “Please, make love to me, Daddy, Yellow, White, please. I love you all so very much.”

Never breaking eye contact, Wade positioned himself between his smaller lover’s wide-spread legs and pushed aside the wisp of lace. Steady and firm he sank into the fluttering body at his mercy. “Your wish, baby boy.” Three souls peered down in fascination, affection, devotion.

Still entranced by their piercing gaze—gazes?—Peter blinked to clear his vision.

Wade sighed before muttering, “Yeah, way better than fear or pain. So much better.”

“My sweet yellow box,” Peter cooed. He cupped his lovers’ cheek. “And White, I’m so privileged to have met the real you.”

The bigger man shuddered above him, and a fat drop splatted on Peter’s cheek. “Dammit, now we’re leaking.”

“But, Daddy, you’re beautiful when you cry.”

Wade didn’t protest the compliment. Quiet settled between them, and Peter could practically hear the silence in the big man’s mind as the three united in the intimacy they shared with him. Pupils blown huge in glassy eyes, the older man leaned down to press their lips together. When Peter allowed him inside, he delved deep, his passion laid bare and raw, vulnerable and delicate.

_As if the only thing he’s ever wanted was someone to adore._

A boy seeking affection from an abusive father and a dying mother—if not in reality, then in his memories. A teen lying about his age, joining the military, training and training and training, only to lose his career when he refused a brutal command that would destroy the last scrap of his soul. A man with no skills except murder, a cancer patient latching onto blind hope, an experiment forged in abject suffering, a shattered and dangerous killer cursed with immortality. The lovers he’d taken. The reputation he’d gained. All that before adding Yellow and White’s tolls, both given and taken.

Peter allowed himself to mourn the man who could have been, even as he held tight to the man who was. Chest to chest, four wounded souls moved as one for that inconceivably precious moment. And Peter focused on cementing every nuance in his memory, armor against the hard times that inevitably lay ahead.

Wade’s thrusts grew languid as his eyes rolled back and his lids fluttered closed. Head thrown back he growled his desolate need until he settled heavily atop the younger man.

After a few minutes of petting the dead weight pinning him to the bed, Peter asked, “That my second dose, Daddy?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, right.” Wade shook all over like a wet dog before pulling out from Peter. “Let’s put Baby in the corner.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Wade helped Peter into his cage and escorted him into place with a firm grip on his arm. “Fifteen minutes, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter reached up and grabbed his elbows, settling his mind for the long, quiet expanse ahead.

Instead Wade pulled a chair up behind him and hummed along to Yellow’s soundtrack as he clicked away on his laptop. “Nah, needs a little more flare.” More clicks. “Right, the rest of bootcamp… We’ll make it up to him, White… So we’re all agreed…?” He made a scandalized squawk. “But those pyjamas… Not even the pretty panties…? Okay, fine, but he’s wearing them when he leaves the house.”

Even after the timer buzzed, Wade never glanced up. He gave the hand signal to present by kneeling in front of his chair. For a hefty chunk of time he offered only random gropes.

“So that’s everything…? We’re all on the same page here…? I know, White; just trust our boy… Perfect. Now then…” With a solid keypress, the printer whirred to life in the living room. “Baby boy, for the rest of bootcamp you won’t be allowed anything but ruined orgasms. Will you assure White’s fretting ass that you’re on board?”

“Yes, Daddy. White, everything’s good; if I have any issue, I’ll let you guys know, promise.”

“Mmm, fuck me, such a good boy… Next you’ll edge yourself at bedtime, a fun little game of fap roulette.”

“Yes, sirs.”

Wade’s chuckle rumbled, gravelly and deep. “Oh, they like that, baby boy.”

“Thank you, White. Thank you, Yellow.”

“You’ve gotta hold back a little; they’re pressing the pleasure button like mad, and I can’t think like this. Screw it: don’t speak until Daddy tells you otherwise.” When Peter didn’t reply, he continued, “You’ll undress the instant you come home. No clothes in the house unless one of us says otherwise. And while you’re out you’ll wear panties under your clothes.”

Peter replied with a soft, appreciative hum, his cage suddenly much too snug.

“Last, we added a list of mini challenges, one a day until the end of bootcamp.” Wade bent down in Peter’s corner and suctioned a brilliant orange dildo to the floor. “Starting with a dozen deep-throat pushups… now.”

Peter scurried forward, eager to obey. Able to see nothing but the corner, the chill prod of blunt metal parting his cheeks startled him, since he hadn’t heard Wade draw close. The smaller man unclenched his ass and spread his legs wider, allowing his lover to plug him.

“Almost forgot the best part.” Wade’s sinister laugh left his boy quaking as he recalled that battery. “If you need to safety out, drop to your knees.”

Sure enough, a mild tingle rose and fell in a low pulse. Enjoying the sensation, Peter sucked down the fat phallus as slowly as possible, then pushed his body upward at the same glacial pace.

Wade snickered at his antics. “One…” He turned up the juice the tiniest bit. “Two…” Faint tickles flickered inside Peter. “Three…”

Muscles contracted in rhythm with the pulses. In tiny increments the challenge grew harder. At seven Peter had to pause to gasp for air while his body rippled. At ten his core hitched as if he were emptying his balls again and again. At twelve he pushed free of the phallus expecting relief of the intense sensation.

Instead Wade upped the current. “Yellow wants to choke you down on that cock, baby boy. If that’s okay with you, swallow that rubber chicken one more time. Otherwise it’s corner time.”

Peter hesitated, snatching a moment for thought between the orgasmic pulses. Then he lowered his body, allowed the dildo to fill his throat again. A large hand dropped onto the back of his head and pressed him down. He could easily push free, but humoring Yellow, he swallowed the phallus as deep as he could.

The electricity climbed, growing uncomfortable enough that Peter wanted to flinch away. When the muscles between his shoulders bunched with his efforts to remain in place, Yellow cackled in sadistic glee. Once the pins and needles sensation grew painful enough to draw a gargling whimper, that hand fisted his hair and pulled him upward until he knelt.

“Does it hurt, boy?” the box asked gruffly.

“Yes, Yellow.”

“Your Daddy says you’ll cry for me soon enough.” Two handed, he stroked knuckles over the thin skin under his lover’s eyes. “But thank you for letting me hurt you first.”

“You’re welcome, Yellow.”

“Oh, baby boy.” Wade chuckled softly, the sound indulgent and pleased. “I won’t punish you for answering Yellow, but damn, sweetheart, it’s a tempting excuse to light your world up.” He dialed down the electricity until it cut out entirely. “Corner time so I can put these toys away. Then it’s time to talk to Helen.”

Peter rose on shaky legs. So much he wanted to say, but he held his tongue, wary of earning more punishments. Hands on elbows he waited patiently. Throat sore, abs exhausted, ass aching, and balls absolutely ripe, he concentrated on slow, deep breaths.

After requesting forty kisses from Helen, accepting a paddling that would have sated Yellow ten times over, begging until he squalled for a lone ruined orgasm, and patrolling for a few hours, Peter had very little energy remaining for Wade’s bullshit when they got home.

“Third dose’s the charm, baby boy.” Topless already, the man worked his leather pants down his legs.

“Wade, no.” Left so horny he could puke even after relieving the pressure, Peter still needed rest more that sex. Particularly sex that would only leave him more desperate.

The ex-merc tilted his head to one side. “That’s not a pineapple.”

“Daddy, please. I’m tired and sore and…” And Peter’s objections would have been more effective if he weren’t peeling panties down his legs. Naked he dropped to the fresh sheet draped over the couch, pressed his palms to his aching eyes, and rocked back slowly to the cushion behind him. “Please, just a little time. Let me have a few minutes?”

“Still not a pineapple, sweet princeling of mine.”

He wanted some concession, dammit. “Be gentle?”

“Your wish, baby boy.”

A kiss to the top each foot and one under the bones on both sides of each ankle made Peter absolutely melt. “How?” The question floated from him on a sigh. _How can a stone-cold killer be so tender?_

Those kisses reached Peter’s knees before Wade moved to kiss each fingertip, both palms, inside of the wrist, up to the elbow. And the younger man, his mind exhausted from the day, could do nothing but let him.

“Wade,” another sigh.

With a savage growl, the big man coiled like steel around him. Hard hands ground the bones in his wrists, securing them at his back, pulling him tight to his lover. “You want gentle, you gotta not do that shit.” His harsh kiss attacked like a viper’s bite, leaving the smaller man’s lips stung. “Now I just wanna make you scream my name while I defile you in every vulgar way Yellow can dream up. Leave bite marks on that glorious ass. Squeeze that swan neck until you turn blue. Crush those nipples while you shriek for mercy.” He grabbed Peter’s hair to turn his head so the older man could hiss into his ear, “Screw that perfect round pucker so rough an’ hard, you’ll still feel our cock shoving deeper into those pretty little guts in your sweet little puppy dreams until you wake up to our cock railing inside you again.”

Grinding in time with his mind-shattering need, Peter moaned at the thought. “Please. Yours.”

That hand fisted in the younger man’s unruly locks, Wade stood, bringing Peter to his feet. “Still want it gentle, baby boy?” he asked, ripping the plug from Peter’s entrance.

“No, Daddy, take me.”

A shove and Peter’s back slammed into the wall, his feet not quite on the ground. He wrapped his legs around Wade’s hips as the bigger man guided his erection to Peter’s core, tender but so very willing. Though Wade started slowly, he thrust from his legs, pinning his smaller lover like a specimen in a museum collection. Lips parted as they kissed, Peter clung to the plaster, spurring Wade to delve deep.

Wade stepped back. “Turn around.” Not a request. Once Peter complied, he added, “Stick that ass out.”

When Peter did, the air cooled the damp trickle on his thighs, making him feel nasty and used.

Before he could protest, Wade filled him again, his motions fast and his grip harsh, with one hand controlling Peter’s hips while the other forced his cheek into the wall. The slap of their bodies drove his chest to the wall. “Right where you belong, little spider, impaled on my dick.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Stay.”

The word felt like iron shackles holding Peter frozen exactly how Wade placed him. Hands encircling his waist pulled his lover deep on each stroke, leaving the smaller man to wheeze as he choked on his own desire. Nostrils flared, mouth agape, overwhelming want crushed a wordless cry from him as his lover erupted inside him.

On the brink of frustrated tears, Peter pushed back from the wall. A smack of fire across his ass, made him twist to see Wade’s fierce scowl.

“Stay.” As the desolate man sank back into place, Wade’s expression softened. “Wanna watch all our come run down your legs.” Gentle hands stroked down his lover’s gasping sides, distracting him from the unpleasant sensation. “See, Yellow, look’t it all. Let us pump him full, keep him full all day long.”

“Liked having you inside me.” Peter flushed hot. “Liked being your cumdumpster, Yellow, knowing I was marked inside and out. Undeniably yours.” He shuddered as another drop of spunk trailed down his thighs as his body protested the emptiness inside. “Not a fan of this, however.”

“Go wash up, Peter.”

“Thank you, White, but I’d rather wait until the decision is unanimous.”

Wade placed a kiss low on his spine. “C’mon, Petey-wheatie puddin’ pie, kissed the merc and made ‘em cry. I’ll wash your back.”

“Not my back I’m worried about.” Peter deadpanned as he turned.

“Don’t worry; Daddy’ll getcha clean enough to eat outta.”

He groaned but placed his hand in his lover’s so Wade could lead him as the big man pleased. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Sitting in Wade’s lap with one arm slung around his neck, Peter sobbed lowly in the wake of his final correction of the day while his boyfriend opened a homemade gameboard on the table. He pried the lid off a tube of sparkly blue gaming dice. “All you gotta do is make your rolls and do what they say.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter sniffled as he accepted a pyramid-shaped die. He rolled a 2.

Wade placed it inside the triangle on the board. “Two minutes. You can do anything for two minutes, baby boy.”

Next came a regular die, and he rolled a 1; that went inside the square. “Wrists tied,” Peter read. As each new die appeared in his hand, he rolled, then read off the ramifications listed on the board. “Kneeling… On the couch… Eighty strokes per minute… Ten edges minimum? You asshole.”

“Sorry, baby boy, them’s the breaks.” Wade’s smirk said neither he nor the boxes were the least bit sorry that Peter had rolled high.

His last roll came up 17, but before he could read out _figged_, Wade flipped it to 12. “Nipple clamps, full pressure.”

Peter read the fine print across the bottom on adjustments he could make. “I wanna buy another roll on the minimum.”

“Figured you might.” The older man adjusted the first die to read three minutes and handed Peter the ten-sided die.

Peter bit his lip as he rolled… 10. “I call bullshit.”

Tapping a line that read dubs, Wade chuckled, a pleasant vibration under his beloved’s skin. “Roll it again if you don’t think it’s fair.”

“No… I’ll keep what I have.” Pouting he read off the instruction: “Add 1d20 to the challenge.” He glared at the board, with its list of twenty ways to make this harder. Rolling a 7, he read, “No hands.” He blinked at the big man. “What the hell? How am I supposed to jerk myself off without using my hands?”

A shit-eating, self-satisfied, and infuriating grin spread over Wade’s features. “Aw, smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

“Fuck you, Wade.”

Fast. It happened too damned fast, even for Peter’s reflexes.

One blink Peter sat curled in his Daddy’s lap. The next he stared at the floor under them, his knees to either side of the big man’s waist and his chest against the big man’s shins. He’d been in this position once before, and he’d hated the vulnerability.

Wade’s warning growl had his boy’s stomach knotting, until he curtly grumbled, “Fine, then you do it.”

A gentle hand trailed over a single globe. “Peter, why do you keep letting them do these horrid things to you? You’re much too sweet for this.”

“Somedays I wonder.” Peter let his face press between the bigger man’s ankles. “Seems like I vaguely recall this being fun.”

White’s laugh—his real laugh—had a smooth, pleasant tone that roused the need humming under Peter’s skin. “Then let’s keep it fun. The brutes have pushed you too far today, so I’m taking charge of putting you to bed.” He let out a vicious growl of his own, a crueler sound despite having less bass. “Because I said so and you agreed to it.”

When had the snitty, manipulative box become so protective? For that matter when had Peter become as insane as his lover? Lovers?

The delicious friction between them roused Peter’s lust… And his cock. Mostly his cock. He giggled as he squirmed on White’s lap, bringing the box’s focus back to him. “Seems I’ve been a bad boy. Are you gonna punish me?”

With a thoughtful hum, White massaged both globes. “I suppose I have no choice.” The statement lacked any hint of reluctance. “Decisions, decisions: should I spank you, or would another punishment better fit the crime?” A single finger circled Peter’s plug, and it emitted a slight vibration. “I need you to ask for it.”

On the absolute edge of losing his mind, Peter whimpered. “White, please, will you punish my disrespect however you see fit?”

“Oh, I rather think I shall enjoy this.” He licked his lips with an audible smack.

The first openhanded slap made Peter gasp as he rutted against the firm flesh supporting him.

Steady as a machine, identical rhythmic smacks landed with hypnotic precision. Wade would never have allowed him to float like this through a punishment; the ex-merc seldom allowed it for corrections. This was play, and Peter damned well knew it.

If for no other reason than the downright sinful sounds that bubbled from his lips.

“I’m doing exactly that… If brains were dynamite you wouldn’t have enough to blow your nose,” White groused, adding, “Thank you; we're all challenged by your unique point of view.”

“Need a hand?” Peter murmured.

White cackled. Petting gently over Peter’s exposed curves, he asked in a husky, hushed tone, “Gonna spank yourself?”

Peter folded his hands under his cheek and slurred lazily, “Not possible in this position.”

“Ready for your punishment?”

He expected no different. “Yes, White.” The reluctant but resigned note in those words revealed more than he wanted to share, but in his subdued mental state, he lacked the artifice for even that sliver of misdirection.

White eased the still-thrumming plug from his splayed lover. “You can have this back tomorrow at bedtime.” The box turned it off and wrapped it in tissue to be dealt with later.

“You… you’re serious.” The emptiness left him so bereft. “Oh, you are a harsh mistress.”

“Disrespectful young men lose the privilege of enjoying their favorite toy,” the box recited, his tone nostalgic. Whoever taught him that had obviously been important. “So what’s up with the potty mouth?”

“You have met Wade, right? He can make the most patient man rip out his hair in frustration.”

“Point taken.” The box sighed with heavy melancholy as he swirled fingertips over the sensitive flesh on display in his lap. “I knew he was going to corrupt you.”

“He’s not corrupted me, White.” Peter twisted to pull himself up to eye level with the bigger man.

“Did I say we were done here?”

“No, White.” He sank back into place.

“The impulse control issues only reinforce my suspicions that you have ADHD.” Minutes passed while White only massaged over his boyfriend’s bruising. “You need our chaos to keep your mind interested.”

He couldn’t deny that.

“Meatface has to be the hardest person in the world to love, but he’s—”

“You can save the lecture, White; I know what he is.”

“I was gonna say he’s head-over-heels for you. We all are; I’m no exception.” The lingering ache in Peter’s body pulsed in time with his heartbeat, lending a cadence to the box’s words. “We’ve done lots and lots of things I wish we hadn’t, but never doubt that you’re this shining beacon that draws us. We all willingly follow you.” The box added somberly, “We haven’t had a single brain trauma in months.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m not.”

Peter scrunched his brows, uncertain where White could possibly be going with this. He waited, but White didn’t resume talking. “Um? And?”

“Our mind is becoming more organized.” He harrumphed. “You’ve been spending too much time with pizza face and shit for brains. They’re starting to rub off on you.”

“White.”

Heeding the warning the box softened his tone. “One day you’re going to miss your boyfriend. We won’t be the man you fell in love with.”

“You think…” Peter pulled himself upright, far too concerned to maintain their game. Once he could meet White’s eyes, he started again. “You think I’m going to grow bored of you?”

“…Yes.” The box shirked away, unwilling to hold his gaze. “I’m certain of it.”

Rather than dismiss the concern, Peter sat, petting the fretful box. “I won’t be the same man either.”

“…I hadn’t considered that.” White looked up, perplexed. “If you never know who you’ll become, how can anyone ever get married?”

“That’s what has you bent outta shape? You’re worried we won’t last the test of time?” Even as Peter’s heart clenched in a painful fondness, he chuckled gently. “You have to take it on faith.”

“I refuse to take anything on faith anymore.” Though not directed at Peter, those words boiled with lethal rage.

“Okay.” Peter raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, so we work to make it happen.”

White nodded, the move slow and exaggerated. “Right. Yes. I’ve heard of that.”

“Feeling calmer?”

“Eh, not really.”

“White, love isn’t a static thing that you either have or don’t. We can grow closer over time; we simply have to put in the effort.”

That manic cackle left Peter sighing in exasperation. “Closer than this? What, we gonna fuse at the hip?”

“Gah, I hope not. It’d suck to be…” Peter blinked, realization settling in his chest. “…trapped together.”

“Yeah.” White pulled back again.

The younger man held his lover tightly. After a moment he asked, “You weren’t even Wade’s friend, were you?”

“No.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“No.” White held him with heartbreaking desolation. “You hate me; I’ll go—”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Well you should.” The box shielded his head as if expecting a blow.

“Well I don’t.” Peter worked his hands around his lover’s forearms so he could tilt White’s chin to face him. “Whatever is between you and Wade doesn’t change how much I love you.”

Eyes shimmering, White hissed, “I resent playing second fiddle.”

“I’ve been as fair as humanly—”

“I know!” the box roared, before whispering, “Don’t you think I know?” He sniffled. “And I appreciate it, Peter; really I do. More than you can ever comprehend in a million lifetimes.” Eyes glistening, he added, “And fair is more than I’ve ever deserved. And—”

“And, no, it’s not. You should expect me to be fair. And you should know I love you.”

He scoffed. “Love. As if that changes anything.”

“What will it take to make you—”

Those eyes gentled and blinked in confusion. “Make me what, baby boy?”

“Make White believe I love him just as much as you and Yellow.” Peter slumped into his Daddy’s embrace.

“Um, why are you still up? White said he’d put you to bed.”

Words running together, Peter hurriedly supplied, “Everything was going fine, but I think he told me more than he ever meant for me to know, and now he’s hiding and sulking and prob’ly terrified, and I don’t know how to make it better.”

“’S alright, baby boy. ’S alright.” A gentle, scarred hand trailed down Peter’s back. “You ain’t gotta have all the answers all the time.”

He nodded absently, not entirely convinced.

“Let’s get you tucked in.”

He protested, “We never got to that new thing, the edging.”

Wade shook his bald head. Voice firm, he told the smaller man, “Not happening. You’re going to bed, right this instant. I’m gonna hold you, at least until you fall asleep, and you’re gonna have pleasant dreams until it’s time for you to get up for work in the morning. Cap fish?”

Brows drawn in confusion, Peter asked, “…You mean capisce?”

“Yeah, that.” Wade flashed a grin that could have instantly melted an igloo.

After a chaste kiss of appreciation for that warm smile, Peter replied, “Yes, Daddy.”


	19. Day 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bootcamp gets out of hand.

After a successful workweek all around, Peter opened his apartment door to heavy piano notes giving way to a Paloma Faith cover. “We could live for a thousand years, but if I hurt you, I'd make wine from your tears…” Naked and spastic, his lover danced double time to the music, swinging a chain flail nerve-rackingly close to the overhead light.

“Yellow?”

“Oh, hey, boy!” The box lunged at Peter and hefted him into a powerful hug as he slung them erratically around the room. “I was standing. You were there. Two worlds collided, and they could never ever tear us apart!” Even as the song wound down, he held the younger man tight to his chest. “Wadey and Whitey said to go ahead with whatever I wanted for now. So long as I don’t break you. No blood. No broken bones. No maiming, no flaying… I forgot the rest, but they said you’d make sure I didn’t do anything wrong. They’re pretending they aren’t fighting so I don’t worry.”

“And you’re not?” Peter asked. “Worried, I mean?”

In sudden concern Yellow replied, “They said not to. Why? Do you think I should?”

“No, my sweet yellow box, you don’t need to worry.” Peter had concerns enough for them both. “Are you willing to spy on them for me?”

Yellow giggled with glee. “Wade keeps saying you won’t dump us just because we’re getting more stable. White’s not so sure. And he’s mad about chairs. Wade says that’s just an excuse, that he’s really just afraid. Oh, that set White off.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, thought that might be the case.”

“And now they’ve noticed me watching, so they told me to pay attention to you.”

“Sounds about right.” A tired sigh seeped from Peter. “Yellow, do you think I’m more affectionate to you and Wade than I am to White?”

The box tilted his head in thought. “No… but you’re more patient for White.”

“Oh?” When Yellow didn’t elaborate, Peter asked, “Why do you think that?”

“When I’m bad, you get jumpy and yelly. When Wade’s bad, you get stormy and bitchy. When White’s bad, you get cuddly and petty.”

“Yellow…” So many ideas tried to escape at once, that Peter had to stop and try again. “Sweet, sweet Yellow, honey, you’re never bad. Never.” He kissed the hinge of the big man’s jaw. “When you’re _doing things_ that can have a bad outcome, I’m in danger. I don’t have time for us to cuddle until you’re feeling better.” He snuggled tight to the box’s body heat as he considered how to word the way he dealt with the three personalities. “I know it doesn’t sound fair, but I intend to give you what you need instead of treating the three of you exactly the same. Can you live with that?”

“Anything you say sounds okay by me.” Yellow spun them slowly, singing along with Alice Cooper’s Poison: “Your mouth, so hot. Your web, I'm caught. Your skin, so wet. Black lace, on sweat.” With utmost care he eased the first button open on Peter’s shirt. “I hear you calling and it's needles and pins. I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.” He continued to sing as he stripped Peter down. “What about the web shooters? On or off?”

Peter shrugged. “Either. I don’t notice them.”

“So I got him naked, what now?” Yellow’s nose scrunched. “But you said I couldn’t… Well, I mean, yeah…? You trust me? To spank Petey?” He gaped at the nothing overhead. “No, hush, let me think; I almost remember something … something trust blah blah Petey blah.”

“Can I help with that?” Peter asked.

“Okay?” Yellow paused expectantly.

“We were in Monaco, and I said you earned a lot of trust. Is that it?”

The box shook his head. “Dunno. Don’t remember.”

“When I crashed you immediately got Wade. And you did so good with the roleplay that the three of you dreamed up.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Happy again, he hummed That’s What Friends Are For over the last notes of “Poison” in the background. “And I did good, so I get to spank Petey!”

“’M not entirely convinced that’s how it works.”

“Don’t matter. Get to spank Petey.”

Peter chuckled as he wrapped himself in Yellow’s embrace. The simplicity of the box’s world always amazed him. “So what kind of spanking are you thinking? Because ‘never walk again’ is a little more than I’d enjoy.”

“Oh, you’re supposed to enjoy the spanking?” Yellow blinked.

“At least enough to come back for more.”

“Well now, that changes everything!” He grabbed Peter by the waist and hefted the smaller man over his shoulder. “I can make it good, boy, so damned good.”

Peter couldn’t help but wonder, “What kind of spanking did you think it would be?”

“The kind that makes sure bad spiders never, never do that again.” His fingers sank into Peter’s flesh, as he hissed, “Bad spiders need punished.”

“But I’m a good spider, right?” Easy, too easy. When had Yellow become effortless?

The hand as his waist softened. “Right. Good spider gets good spider spanking. I can do a good spider spanking.”

“I have absolutely no doubt.”

“You’re not really gonna leave, are you? White says one day you’ll get tired of our shit and go.”

Peter rubbed his eyes. “White’s wrong, but the only way I can prove it to him is to stay. And dammit, White, I have plenty of my own shit that you have to deal with.” He slid off Yellow’s shoulder to stand on the foot of the bed. Both arms around the bigger man, he cooed, “Yellow, I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“But, White’s right: we’re a murderer and you hate murderers.”

“I don’t hate anyone. I hate the act of murder because it hurts the victim and their family. There’s a huge difference.” After a Marge Simpson-worthy annoyed grumble, he asked, “Are they being mean to each other or just having a disagreement?”

“That second one, I guess.” Big tears welled in his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere?”

Peter folded his legs and allowed himself to drop to the mattress. “Nope.”

Yellow climbed into his lap and curled around his torso, knees at one flank and elbows at the other. “This okay?”

“You’re fine, sweetheart.”

The box stiffened. “Now it’s the second one.”

“Knock it off in there. Just because I’m out here, don’t think I can’t reach you.” Peter stroked his lover’s tense back. “Are they calming down?”

“Yeah.” Yellow nuzzled into his side. “I feel like I was supposed to do something.”

“Good spider spanking?” Peter supplied.

Yellow rolled them so the smaller man lay across his lap. “Oh, yes, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on our boy at spanking time.”

Still disoriented by the sudden change in position, Peter most certainly did not giggle like a schoolgirl on her first date. That was a third date giggle if he’d ever heard one.

Slow and light, Yellow’s opening volley brought more circulation to his skin, a warm sensation that left him in a pliable ball of happy. He groaned out, “I was supposed to ask for a reminder that I have to take care of myself.”

“Can you remember? I can’t.” Yellow shifted into second gear.

“…Um, usually.” A sinfully wanton moan left Peter panting. “This is exactly the sort of thing that makes me forget.”

Yellow brushed Peter from his lap and stood before the younger man could voice his complaint. “Okay, well, that was fun and all.” He took the hand Peter intended to use to pull the box back to him. Instead Yellow guided him to stand as well. “Don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Easy.” On tiptoes Peter leaned in for a quick kiss, adding a playful smoochie noise as he pulled back. “Nobody’s in trouble. Tell you what: why don’t we have dinner first, then we can’t forget?”

Yellow beamed. “CHIMICHUNGAS!” After they finished off the pad Thai leftovers, he snatched up the flail again. Upon closer inspection, the box held a chainmail flogger with a dozen or so falls. “Mmm, bet this would sound nice thumping into you, mister short, pale, and snarky.”

“So long as you’re gentle enough that I’ll wanna come back for more on Sunday.”

“Yes! Sunday Funday!” The box cackled with glee. “Soon, soon, soon, only two more days!”

Peter tried so hard not to roll his eyes, but he failed just as hard. “Right. So I’ve gotta be in good shape for you on Sunday. You can bruise me but don’t break bones and don’t make me bleed.”

“Yeah, okay, I got it.” Yellow gestured the command for Peter to lay on his stomach at the foot of the bed. “Hehe, I remembered…! Yeah, only because you reminded me… Asshole.”

Despite their bickering, Peter obeyed without hesitation, placing his full trust in his lover.

And, oh, was that trust rewarded!

Heavy barely began to describe the sensation of metal against flesh. The crush worked its way deep into his chest, coaxing him to breathe in time with the box’s strikes. And the sounds, an infinite loop of thumps and moans, left Peter transfixed on the beats: in, pain, out, pain. Like enjoying an amazing massage, his body loosened as the weight repeatedly spread across his back.

The room disappeared when he closed his eyes. The music fell away soon after. A moment later and he lost any sense of the bed under him. Even the pain faded.

All ties to reality severed, his mental peace absolute, Peter tumbled into the void. His world echoed with dozens of reverberating cycles of whump, gasp, whump, huff.

Once he’d surrendered all his power, he had no responsibilities. No duty existed here. He needed only to be.

When Yellow shifted him to his hands and knees, the change barely registered. The sting of that first thrust left him breathlessly pleading for more. His lover filled the emptiness inside, then left him yearning, only to repeat the motion in the next breath. The box guided him with a hand at his hip, while the other ran slickly over his caged cock.

Peter had seldom been allowed to be so silent with Wade or his boxes, and his voice came out in a hoarse croak. “Please, need it.”

“Un-uh, I remember that much: No letting Peter come. Every time they notice me, they make me repeat it over and over.”

The smaller man whimpered when the box’s touch withdrew from his cage.

“Oh, Petey, so hot and tight for me. Feel so good. And my pretty boy’s so close to tears.” He leaned down to whisper in Peter’s ear, “What will it take to make you cry?”

“I… I dunno…” Peter gasped, writhing on the hard cock inside him. “Please, need it so, so bad.”

“Sorry, boy, not an option.” Yellow gave a cruel cackle. “You want that cage off?”

Peter couldn’t quite force out the words, “Yes, Yellow,” but he made a choked attempt.

“Hmm, you wanna come for me?” He ran his hand up the column of Peter’s throat and latched on behind the smaller man’s jaw. “But all you get to do is drizzle from that cage?” Low and evil, he asked, “How does it feel to want it so bad you can taste it and have big bad Yellow tell you no?”

A strangled noise escaped Peter, but no words followed. _It sucks. It feels like hell. Fuck, it’s too much._

“Want it so bad and I just keep ramming you?”

“Fuck!” Nauseated with need, Peter trembled. “Please!”

“Just keep taking but never giving?”

He whimpered, unable to express his desolation in words.

“Hmm, I asked how does it feel, boy?”

“Sucks…” He gasped, his diaphragm spasming. “Oh, fuck, sucks.”

“That’s it; you’re so pretty when you cry for me. All that strain in your body, all that effort not to bawl, and it’s all for nothing.” The box barked a harsh laugh. “Poor Petey, you won’t be coming today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.”

Peter allowed himself to be pitiful over his lack of release. He mourned all those times he’d taken his nut for granted: a morning ritual to be hurried through so he could start his day, a quick shower jerk at bedtime, a rare boring afternoon of porn surfing. Now, having lost that freedom, he sobbed with his unfulfilled desire as it spread from his balls into his belly and down between his thighs.

“Please, Yellow, please!” The sheet ripped in Peter’s hands as they curled into fists.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Your tears make my dick throb.” The box’s grip spasmed on his hips. “Unh, gonna fill my little Petey puff til, ungh, my cream spurts out his nose.”

Peter tried to growl in distaste, but he could only whine at the taunt while his cravings stole his breath and shoved his heart into his throat. Once the box pulled out, the younger man listed to one side until gravity took him down. “Too much.”

“Your Daddy says to ask if you wanna pineapple.”

He shook his head; he could take another hour of this, so long as it didn’t get worse. “No,” he croaked, “but I fuckin’ wanna come.”

“In that case it’s time to go patrol, baby boy.” Wade placed a hand at the small of his back. “I’ll even let you pick the building where I ruin you.”

Peter was certain he’d had more trouble swinging home through the streets of New York at some point, but damned if he could remember when. Clinging to his back, well, also rutting against his ass, Wade chatted merrily with his boxes about Peter’s fap roulette. Which left the webslinger hopelessly aroused.

When they landed on the fire escape outside their apartment, Wade huffed. “Surely you can think of one challenge you wanna issue… So I burn through a lot of your ideas? I like mixing things up.” He climbed through the window after Peter. “Oh, oh, and let’s make him watch when he does it.” That evil chortle left Peter’s stomach fluttering with dozens of butterflies. “That’s devious. You wanna do it or shall I?” Wade stood and leered as his boyfriend undressed, the bigger man’s gaze far too intense for comfort.

Naked and still being scrutinized, Peter snapped, “What?”

“We’ve decided on your next challenge, baby boy, and I wanted a final look at you before you kick our ass out the window and never speak to us again.” Wade placed his hands over his boyfriend’s ribs and rubbed his thumbs over the smaller man’s nipples, bringing them to hard nubs. “Just present kneeling in front of the mirror. Go ahead and open the curtain. I’ll be there in a few.”

With his heart clenching anxiously in his chest, Peter did as he was told. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Eyes on yourself, baby boy. I don’t want them wandering.” Wade knelt behind him, still in his leathers though he’d stowed his weapons. “Just keep watching your expressions.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

A chill press of metal at his backside had Peter gasping. Large. It was large and heavy and cold. His rim flared as it eased deeper, which made his face pinch at the burn. Once that tension eased, the object ratcheted inside him, filling him so completely that he hardly dared breathe.

“What the hell?” It was a legitimate question.

“You don’t have your black plug in.” Wade slipped off the necklace with his lover’s cage key, added another key, and put the necklace back. “Locked in nice and safe. How’s it feeling?”

Struggling to maintain his eye contact rather than let his eyes roll back, Peter groaned. “Ab-so-fuckin’-lutely amazing.”

“Good. Now then, I want you to think about your favorite fantasy that involves anyone but us.”

“Daddy?”

“You heard me. Anyone that ain’t moi. Get it good and solid in your mind. How good they feel on your cock. Imagine how you take them—or how they take you. Really feel them all over you.”

Peter’s flush turned crimson as he let himself imagine Mary Jane’s familiar caress while his lover watched him in wolfish anticipation. Soft skin, softer lips, her kiss had been a slice of heaven. Her body, like a vintage Rolls Royce, every line and plane sculpted for pleasure. She felt like absolute silk on his cock.

“You got it good and concrete in that little noggin, Petey-pie?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now I want you to tell me your fantasy, but instead of whoever, I want you to replace them with Stark.”

“Pineapple! Fuckin’-a, pineapple!” Peter flopped to his back, his brows halfway down his nose. “No way, no how, White. Not happening. I can’t have my career… Ugh, just no. Too messy and too weird.”

“Alright, baby boy, alright. You have the cutest freakouts ever.” A laugh rumbled deep in the bigger man’s chest. “Who are you willing to make it? Anyone it embarrasses you to think of like that?”

Face still flaming hot, Peter held up a hand to show he needed a second. A decade ago it would have been Harry. Now, not so much. “Not Stark or Banner, I have to work with them. Not Cap, I’d pass out cold the next time I saw him. Jameson turns my stomach.” He would live to regret this. “I guess Johnny Storm.”

“Firebug himself.” Wade grinned. “Nice choice. Pretty eyes. Now up, up. Back to work.”

Once Peter rolled back to his knees, he still had to fight to hold his own gaze. Three times his head fell to his chest before he could force out the single word. “Silky…” He swallowed the sand in his throat. “My person, er, my Johnny is…” He stopped to breathe, flushing deeper as he noted how red he’d already become. “Johnny’s riding me, using his legs, but they are shaved dolphin smooth. His hands are on my chest, holding part of his weight as he leans forward to kiss me. And his lips are soft. So damned soft.”

As the pressure on Peter’s balls increased, he moaned. Eyes half-lidded, that imagined silk slid up his shaft, and he shuddered. “Please, Daddy, it’s unbearable. Please?”

“Just a little more and Daddy’ll ruin you again.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Confused over who he should think about, he gathered his wits. “Johnny feels good in my hands. Pleasant and familiar. And he’s vice tight as he comes for me. A strong squeeze that forces me out every single time.” He can hardly keep himself from ripping off his cage. “Daddy, it’s gotta happen now if you don’t want me to hurt myself.”

The fumble of a key between his legs left Peter weak with gratitude. A textured glove stroked him as he trembled and moaned.

“Let us know when you’re close.”

“Yes, sirs.”

“And keep your eyes on your eyes,” the big man reminded him in a teasing singsong.

“Yes, sirs.”

The pulsing between his legs became a hard throb as his balls drew tight. “Close, Daddy.”

“Say his name, baby boy.”

Peter gasped in total mortification that his boyfriend would ask such at thing of him. “Daddy!” _I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

“No, say _his_ name.” And the big galoot had gall enough to snicker.

“Wade, please!” Panting open mouthed Peter scrunched his eyes so tightly closed, they ached behind the lids.

“Un-uh-uh, watch Daddy’s good little love dumpling struggle.” The hand on his cock stilled. “Now, ready to do this right?”

Peter whimpered, his reflection ablaze with shame and outrage while his own hazel gaze sparkled damply at him. “Yes, Daddy.” Wade’s affections quickly drew him to a razor-sharp peak. “Juh—!” He couldn’t, and the word cut off with a whimper.

The first pulse released the pressure, making the sensation bearable, but after his ruined release he still felt insufferably horny and no small amount mortified. Once he caught his breath he muttered, “You three suck.”

“Yeah.” Wade flashed his shit-eating grin. “But now you’re gonna throb every time you team up with the Fantastics.”

“Hmph, yeah, thanks for that.”

“Ready for that three-minute fap, or you wanna shower first?” He drew the curtain closed to hide the mirror before peeling off his mask and gloves.

“Shower, please, Daddy, shower.” Panting, Peter tried to ignore the all-encompassing want that slithered under his skin. “And you’ve got my dick set to a hair trigger, so you’re gonna hafta wash it.”

“Yes, dear.” Wade gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, that was so very, very worth it. Fist bump for White?”

Peter turned away, shaking his head, but a huff of amusement escaped him. “Yeah, alright, that was an experience. Fist bump for White.”

“Bo-yah!” Wade made an explosion as their knuckles collided. “So if I ask nicely, think Johnny’ll give us a threesome.”

Reflexive, Peter punched him in the shoulder. “Not on your life. I’m a one-person spider. Try to change that and I’ll bite you both.”

“So the answer to my question is yes?”

“Bite me, Wade.”

“Ooh, not _Fuck you, Wade_?” His smirk only grew.

“You are legit killing me here.” Peter sighed from somewhere south of his soul. “Yes, Daddy, I’m trying to be a good boy.”

“So do you just want to be a good boy for me, or are you avoiding another punishment?”

“Avoiding punishment.” A hot shame settled over him. “But I like being your good boy, and I hate avoiding punishment. So you might wanna ask that again later?”

“Okay, sweetie pie honey bunch, whatever you say.”

“And you might wanna know your current cat-who-ate-the-canary grin is tempting. Sorely tempting.”

Wade’s infuriating smile only widened as he turned on the water in the shower. “Temptation, you say?”

“Daddy, I really wanna knock that smile right off your face.”

He buried his grin in the smaller man’s hair. “Mmm, but you’re not going to.”

“No, Daddy, I won’t. I love your smile.” Peter’s reluctant chuckle escaped through his nose. “Even when it’s at my expense.”

“Good boy.”

Minute by minute, Peter tolerated the shower as Wade scrubbed them both. Second by second the smaller man survived his last correction of the day. As the ex-merc put on a ninety-beat-per-minute playlist, Peter panted and shivered while kneeling on the couch, his nipples clamped harshly and his wrists bound behind his back.

“So three minutes, ten edgings, and no hands?”

“That’s right, baby boy.” From his perch on their coffee table, Wade twisted the egg timer. “Ready?”

Peter stared down one of their spare pillows, which lay over the arm of the couch. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Wax off, Daniel-san.” With the first tick came the first fap of Wade’s hand stroking his own cock.

Peter managed to get his weight holding the pillow in place without knocking it to the floor. The soft case, one of Wade’s, gave just enough friction without chaffing, a relief. The pleasant slide felt too good to be real, but he maintained that steady pace until he quivered on the brink. Then he did it again and a third time, even as his willpower crumbled.

The fourth, his strained grunt gave way to a relieved gasp as he rutted deliriously against the cloud-soft fabric. “Wade!” he yelped as his body escaped his control. Coming, unable to stop his hips, he worked his body, wringing the pleasure from the moment.

“Oh, damn.” A jet of warm liquid splashed across Peter’s calf. As Wade quaked in his peripheral, the older man whispered, “That’s about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Don’t move, baby boy.” For a long moment the ex-merc only stared. Then his hands were everywhere all at once, so much like taking stock of a racehorse that Peter expected his lover to check his teeth. “I can’t help myself.”

The plug was unlocked and tugged from his body, leaving a vast needy emptiness at his core. Wrists freed, he steadied himself with both hands on the arm of the couch. Clamps removed, his nipples stung as sensation flooded into them.

“So hot.” Wandering fingers lit on his shoulders and pulled him into his boyfriend’s hard thrust.

Wade speared him with a ravenous thirst as if the man could never be fully sated. One of the bigger man’s hands gripped his waist, leverage to force that scarred cock to the hilt on each stroke. Scalp stinging from the fist that craned his neck, Peter rolled into each brutal slap of flesh, his body tender and bruised, amplifying each intense sensation.

Angry at his failure and frustrated by the thought of punishment, Peter didn’t hold back his tears as the scarred man ravaged his body. He allowed each second to pass until Wade sank deep with a grunt. The instant the big man draped bonelessly over his back, Peter mewled in miserable surrender, “Pineapple.”

Lifted and spun, Peter found himself sitting, tiny and sad, in Wade’s lap, wrapped in a crushing hug. “’S good, baby boy. Very good, so proud. You did the right thing. And Daddy’s so proud of you. Everything’s okay. Nothing’s gonna get ya here.”

The man could have said anything; just the rumble of his words brought comfort. Quite literally the safest he’d ever been in his life, Peter allowed himself to experience the overwhelming emotions that pulled him under. Nerves raw, he felt his failure in every aching fiber of his body. His disappointment a palpable force, he trembled in its wake. Two-thirds through bootcamp, and he’d thrown in the towel. But even a hint of another punishment exceeded what he could endure without damaging their relationship.

Once Peter calmed enough to allow it, Wade slipped from under him and returned with his softest blanket. A moment later he brought two bottles of water and a bowl of nuts and dried berries. “Here, let’s feed that healing factor before it decides to munch on your muscles.” He pinched the underside of Peter’s arm between two knuckles in a tickling nibble that made the smaller man jerk back with a tiny grin. “Oh, there he is. That’s the spitfire I love so much.”

When the bottle touched his lips, Peter allowed Wade to pour swallow after swallow into his mouth, unconcerned about the slight chilly dribble falling from his chin. An almond and a slice of strawberry came next. Numb and obedient Peter did as expected until the snack was gone.

“There now, better?”

Peter nodded absently.

“So talk to me. We postponing your punishment, or is it something more?”

“Both? Neither? I can’t. It’s too much too much.” Peter sniffled as the water works started up again. “I’ll resent another week of this. And I don’t wanna resent it. But I know me and I will.”

“We have all day tomorrow to figure out where we want to go from here, baby boy. Let’s get some hot cocoa into you and put you down for the night.” Wade rested his hand in the middle of the smaller man’s back. “Hey, would you feel better if you had your cage and your plug overnight?”

“Yes, Daddy.”


	20. Morning of Day 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Pineapple Petey takes White for a drive.
> 
> Y'all, today is 9k and nothing near finished. I make no promises on the next chapter's length, but this one is already unwieldy. Besides I don't want you to have to wait for the rest of the day to come into existence.

Exactly as he’d drifted off, Peter woke to his world rising and falling in time with Wade’s breathing. The smaller man stretched before asking, “You sleep at all?”

“Nah, enjoyed watching you too much.” Big arms tightened around him. “You snore like an iddy-biddy little spidery freight train.”

“Do not. And ’m not little.”

“Do so. It’s cute.”

“’M not cute.” Logic would never sway the man, so Peter changed tacks. “Pancakes?”

Wade’s sigh held a contented weight. “So is that my baby boy asking Daddy to make pancakes, or is that Dom Pedro suggesting that I’d best get a move on?”

“Don’t go yet, Daddy. You’re way too comfy. And Dom Peter’s still in vacay mode.”

Wade nuzzled into his hair. “Mmm, good. I don’t wanna let this end yet.”

“Yeah, ’s nice.” Eyes puffy and lids heavy, Peter let them close.

“Meant bootcamp.”

“Me too.” Peter rolled so he could watch his lover’s expressions. “I always wondered how you could like some of these things. Never has my flabber been so ghasted as when I realized I did too.”

His own lids at half mast, his boyfriend flashed a lazy smile. “That was supposed to be my joke; the author said so.”

“Eh, Stanley’ll get over it.”

“Not Stan Lee, this author.”

Peter didn’t bother to shrug. Before he could overthink his words, he plunged into the discussion they’d skipped last night: “Things got too physical.”

“But Petey-pie o’mine, a good mindfuck is hard work.” The ex-merc’s chuckle resonated with that special brand of cruelty that made his boyfriend’s toes curl. “But I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

After forcing his eyes open Peter managed to find his voice, “I don’t want to get Yellow in trouble because he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Wade raised a non-existent brow. “Didn’t do what?” he asked, harsh and suspicious.

“He got me thinking about how long it’d be until I’d be allowed to come, and… I dunno, my spirit flagged or some shit. I just… I gave up.” _Absolute truth._ With a disgusted grumble, Peter amended, “Not gave up, just lost… something.” He buried his face in his lover’s chest. “Knowing I wouldn’t get any relief, it was harder. I couldn’t make myself stop because there was no possibility of later.”

In a melodramatic rumble, Wade asked, “Is it not enough just to have a long and happy life with me?”

Peter gawped, incredulous. “…Are you quoting _Twilight_ at me?”

“I’m strong enough to kill you.”

Peter propped his head in his hands, conveniently allowing his elbows to sink into the bigger man’s ribs. “Wade. First of all, no, you’re not—”

“Yes. No. To get to the other side. Uh, 1.77245...”

“I don't want to know what the square root of pi is.”

“Dammit,” Wade grumbled, “I thought you said you’d never seen them!”

Peter groaned. “I didn’t say I’d never seen them; I said they aren’t my thing.”

“So what do you do with _your_ thing?”

Peter glanced around as he asked, “Is this a hypothetical question or is there a lady involved?”

“Ooh, obscure. Baby boy’s hanging with the big dogs.”

“Wade, we watched _The Toy_ together. Last week.”

“…Oh.” He paused in full suspended animation for a moment. “Well I can’t have my baby boy goin’ through life without some appreciation for Richard Pryor.”

“Right.” Peter snorted as he lay his head on the big man’s chest. “You’re old.”

“’M not that old. ’Sides you’re so young you don’t know why we _hang_ up a phone.”

Oh, the game was on: “Yeah? Well you’re so old you can’t go to an auction without people bidding on you.”

“Nah, they’re paying me to go away. You’re so young you never stood in line at the record store to buy concert tickets.”

“Nope, never did, you absolute fossil. You’re so old you got your first letter by carrier pigeon.”

“Not.” Wade’s lopsided grin grew mischievous. “Well, you’re so young you’ve never seen a card catalogue.”

“Take that back! I’ve seen one… just never used it. You’re so old you dream in black and white.”

“That was your momma. You’re so young you never had to write on a slate chalkboard at the front of the class.”

“Ugh, that sound…” Peter shivered at the thought of enduring that daily. “You’re so old you used to dial 0 to jerk it while talking to the telephone operator.”

“…I wonder if that still works.”

“Ew, Wade!” Peter’s bladder sent up an emergency alert that it had reached capacity. As he slid to his feet and made his retreat, he asked, “So, pancakes, Daddy?”

The bigger man swiped at him as he went by. “Yeah, you spoilt brat, pancakes.”

When Peter returned to find his boyfriend in the kitchen, White grumbled, “I don’t see why I have to do this… I know I’ve seen you do it thousands of times. Doesn’t mean I paid attention.”

The smaller man tugged him to one side to plant a kiss at his temple. “Mmm, hey, gorgeous, glad to see you.”

White’s expression turned sullen and distant. “I very much doubt that.”

“Such a sourpuss.” Once he had his coffee brewing, Peter sauntered closer, ran his knee up his lover’s thigh, and growled, “Love you anyway, whether you like it or not.”

The box’s stance softened, though he didn’t turn. “And here I thought Dom Peter was still on vacation.”

Low and sultry, the smaller man turned up the heat in his voice. “’M always glad to make an exception for a boyfriend who cooks for me.” He pulled that knee higher, then wrapped his leg around his lover’s hip. “’M always glad to make an exception for any little white box who wants to be good for me.” Right against the bigger man’s neck, he asked, “Do you want to be a good white box for me?”

“That might work on meatface and his pet moron, but it’s not going to work on—”

A flick of one foot buckled his lover’s knees. He bent White backward into his arms. The stolen move worked just as well on White, leaving the box stunned and pliable. Possessive, even a bit greedy, Peter leaned down to press their lips together. With a sweep of his tongue, he delved deeper. Drenching his kiss in affection and passion, he poured everything he had into stunning White breathless.

When he released the bigger man, White straightened drunkenly, then finished with an airy, “—me?”

Oh, Peter did enjoy a challenge. One hand in the middle of his boyfriend’s chest, he shoved him lightly into the doorframe. With just his middle finger and thumb forcefully guiding his lover’s jaw, he twisted the bigger man’s head closer, until the roughened shell of his ear barely brushed Peter’s lips. “Are you willing,” he asked, words alive with menace and promise, “to be a good white box for me?”

Fully awed White swallowed. “Yes.”

Peter leaned close again. “Yes, what?”

“No.” Jerking and flinching, the box tried to pull away. “Please, no.”

“Okay.” Hands up Peter took a half step back. “_Sir_ is a trigger?”

“I—yeah. Trigger.” Blanched wan, White refused to meet the younger man’s gaze.

“What do you want to call me?”

“Peter?”

He reached for the box, but with White’s voice so small and frightened, his hand fell back to his side. Gently he asked, “Wanna pineapple outta this?”

White met his gaze. “No, Peter. I want to experience what you do to the meatsuit.”

Satisfied that White was recovering, Peter nodded. “Okay.” Hand back at his lover’s jaw he noted that the box seemed unfazed by the physical control. “So this is alright?”

“Yes, Peter.”

“’M willing to bet you’re just as needy for praise as everyone else inside that skull. Maybe more so.” Halfway between a pat and a slap, he clapped the big man’s cheek, letting that lead to a gentle caress, which had the box pressing into his touch. “Hmm, do the words _good boy _make your heart thump harder?”

White’s eyes fluttered closed as he bowed his head. “Yes, Peter.”

“Like meatface and his pet moron?” Peter let a bit of his angry disapproval leak into the question.

“Yes, Peter, like Wade and Yellow.” Contrition?

Beaming a sweet smile, Peter wrapped his hand around the back of White’s neck and massaged in small, soothing circles. “Oh, you’d do anything to make me _think_ you’re a good boy, won’cha?”

Eyes glistening, White pulled back, again stopped by the doorframe. As he tried to hide his face, a flush rose between those ever-shifting scars. “Yes.”

Ignoring the slip Peter debated pushing the box. The older man’s dazed expression showed only a little distress, so he asked, “But we both know better don’t we?”

“Yes,” White huffed in relief.

“Tell me,” Peter insisted.

“We both know I’m the monster.”

Oh, that would never be allowed to stand unchallenged. “Do we? Seems I remember that a tiny bit differently. You’re the one with perfect recall, so tell me, what did I say last time?”

“That I’m _your_ monster.” The hopeful note in those words made Peter’s heart clench.

“That’s right: my monster. Mine.” He thumped his chest with a loose fist. “And how do I feel about my monster?”

White finally broke into a small smile. “You love your monster.”

“I do. I love my—”

DEE-DEE-DEE-DEE-DEE…!

“Pancakes.” White pushed past him to pull the smoldering pan off the burner.

Once Peter had fanned the smoke from the alarm, he grumbled, “Meh, let’s go out for breakfast.”

“Order in?”

“Even better.” He climbed onto the big man’s back while he scraped the burnt mess into the trashcan. “So where were we?”

With a shiver, White gasped, “Prickly. So prickly.”

“So Wade said, but like I told him, anytime my boyfriend feels flighty, I’m gonna get sticky.”

Voice a tad too high, White demanded, “I suggested we order breakfast; how’s that flighty?”

“Oh, it’s not. That was just a reminder. Cuz I think you need it more than he does.” Peter chuckled. “’Sides, can’t a guy stick to his boyfriend just because he wants to be close?”

“Eh, gah, eh. No. I rather think not.” White shimmied under him. “It’s weird. Like you’re covered in little spines. But then one turns sharp for a second.”

Peter nipped the bigger man’s neck. “All the better to cling to you, my dear.”

The man under him tensed. “Moronicus Maximus has spoken, ladies and gents… Because calling you a dumbass is an insult to dumbasses everywhere… No, I’d rather not… Do you mind…?” He dropped his head with a grimace.

“Inside voice,” Peter reminded as he slid off his lover. A moment later, when White’s muscles relaxed, he asked, “Better?”

“Yeah.” White shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge the last Junior Mint from the carton. “Well, he’s gonna be busy the rest of the day.”

“With what?”

The box gave a toothy, one-sided grin, one Peter had never before seen on his lover. “Planning tomorrow. Struck with sudden inspiration, you might say.”

“Wait, is that you, feeling fond, toward Yellow?” Peter asked as a giddy pride rose in his chest.

“I never said I didn’t like Yellow.”

“No, never said you didn’t like him.” _Just implied it very strongly._ Of course Yellow could be a bit much sometimes, so he might garner some hate even from someone who liked him overall. Even so, Peter had his suspicions that White projected onto the other two. “Can I ask you something serious?”

Instantly leery, White froze. “Maybe?”

For this conversation, Peter really wished he was wearing something more substantial than a cock cage and a butt plug, but he forged ahead. “If I can get you an appointment with the Avengers’ psychologist—?”

Arms crossed, expression bland and still, the box blurted, “Wade isn’t going to like that.”

“But would you like someone to help you manage your grief and rage?”

“I don’t—none of the others have helped, and I—I don’t want to.”

Unsurprised, Peter pressed his forehead to his lover’s. “Will it be okay if I ask again in a few months?”

White issued a noncommittal grunt. “If you must.”

“Whatever secret you’re keep—”

He pressed a hand over Peter’s mouth. “We don’t talk about that. Ever.”

Peter nodded. “Okay. Just remember, as much as you guys are on my side, I’m on your sides too.”

That fond grin broke across his face again. “I almost believe you.” Before Peter could retort, he scooped up his phone. “I’m ordering from that little café by the dentist-slash-real estate broker; want anything?”

“Bacon, eggs, toast, and oj,” Peter replied without considering his options.

“Wade says to ask if you want an order of crepes too.”

“Yes, definitely. Their crepes are ah-may-zing.” Just the thought had him drooling.

“You are absolutely too cute.” White chuckled as he leaned down to put a kiss on the top of the smaller man’s head.

“’M not cute, dammit.” Peter crossed his arms and studied his boyfriend until he finished placing their order. “You’re in a suspiciously good mood. So forgive me for acting the ass, but why are you out… um, here… on not-a-Wednesday?”

“Won a bet. Figured it was worth breakfast with our Peter before bootcamp kicked back up.”

“Oh?” He edged closer, smirk firmly ensconced. “Just breakfast?” Languid, he lifted one of the bigger man’s wrists overhead. “Or did you want something more…” He raised the other. “Substantial?”

White purred, “What’s a nice boy like you doing in a filthy mind like mine?”

Squeezing both wrists in one hand, he rasped in his lover’s ear, “I dunno, what?”

“Anything he fuckin’ wants. I just wanna feel it.” A shiver ran up the bigger man. “So long since I’d felt anything, then Wade—absolute torture.” His head dropped as if the weight were simply too much to support. “No, make me feel good, Peter; make me ache and beg. Do your worst and make it count.”

“I’ll make you feel it all.” With his free hand Peter peeled the front of the bigger man’s tee up, over his head, leaving the rest pulled tight across his shoulders as a makeshift posture harness. That heavily scarred chest begged to be touched, so he traced lightly over the swooping and jagged mars. “Be my good white box and don’t move a muscle.” He tapped the man’s breastbone with a stiff finger. “I’ll be right back.”

Hips swaying in an exaggerated sashay, he padded to the bedroom. He selected a high tensile, medium tack webbing, popped it into a webshooter, and slipped it on his wrist. With his robe draped over his arm, he grabbed their entire toybox, uncertain what he might want.

After he padded back to find his beloved exactly as he left the man, he dropped the robe and the toybox on the couch. “Mmm, good boy, such a good white box for me. Let’s put a little stress on those arms. Put them behind your back and show me those guns.” As White flexed Peter shot a web to a corner of the room, draping the near end of the line into the box’s hands. “On your toes. Up, up, up. Nice and tall for me, my obedient monster,” he instructed as he shot a second web to the opposite corner.

While White held the anchor lines, Peter secured them and the box’s arms to his boyfriend’s thick torso. “Those triceps, those lats.” His stomach twisted, and a hungry thrum seeped from deep in his chest. “You’re scorching hot.” He ignored the way his cock strained, ignored the rising pain in his undercarriage. With a pleased murmur of appreciation, he pressed both palms to the bigger man’s sides and ran them down to his trim waist. “Let’s strip these pants off.” Once he had the box bare, he almost pushed back to stand, but then he felt the flex of those quadriceps. “So good for me.” Still kneeling he massaged down the back of the bigger man’s massive thighs, then his calves. Lips halfway between his lover’s cock and his hip, he muttered into the ruined skin, “So very good.”

“Tease.” White quivered and whimpered. “Please, Peter, make me feel something.”

“Patience.” The word wasn’t entirely for White. A rampant shiver rolled up Peter’s abs as the first drop of pre fell on his thigh. He gave the key around his lover’s neck an anxious glare but reluctantly opted to leave his own pleasure in Wade’s hands. “You’re gonna feel this for days, even with your healing factor.”

Eye level with his boyfriend’s cock, he couldn’t resist working a bead of glistening liquid to the tip and swiping it away with his tongue. “Feeling me yet?”

“Yes, Peter.” The box rolled his head back. “More. Please more.”

Peter chuckled darkly. “Oh, that tune will change soon enough.” He lifted the bigger man’s ankle to his shoulder before he stood. After webbing three lines from the ankle and knee to the anchor, he ran a support line from the ceiling to his lover’s upper thigh and his chest bindings. “Is that holding your weight comfortably?”

Barely there, White whispered, “Yes.” He added a feral growl. “Fuck, please, take me up and let me swing.”

“Remember you asked.” Peter hooked his elbow under the big man’s other knee and lifted. With four more weblines to support the leg and a couple to stabilize the big man’s torso, his lover hung fully suspended from the thick beams that cracked through the plaster overhead. Wade had been so shocked when he came home to find the bare, white-dusted wood exposed; soon after he became rather enamored with Peter’s little mishap from crawling on the ceiling. Overwhelmingly so, in fact, and Peter snickered at the memories.

Just outside White’s line of sight, Peter set the silicone-free lube on the arm of the couch. He sifted through the toybox. Wade’s favorite—and largest—plug should work perfectly to open White up and make him tremble. Add a fleshlight and they were in business. A flash of red caught his eye, and he grabbed Wade’s small ball gag as well.

Gag first, he strode over to his lover and held it up for the man’s approval. “Fell free to scream; this will keep you from busting my eardrums. You should be able to talk around it just fine.”

“I’ve never…” Stress drained from the box. “I trust you.”

“You good with the long tease?”

White nodded even as his abs rippled and tightened. “Yes, Peter.” When the ball nudged against his lips, he opened tamely.

“Hold it for me while I latch the strap.” Peter slipped around behind the man and cinched the gag loosely into place.

“Leaz, Eakher.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Peter teased. He smirked as he stooped to slip under White’s leg. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Leaz! Or uck’z zake, leaz!”

“First I need to hear you say your safeword.”

“Inea’le.”

“Good. There’s my good monster. Look’t you all exposed.” Peter pressed his palm to the soft length of the box’s cock and watched it grow and stiffen with his touch.

White strained, his back arching into the touch, but he had no leverage. “Leaz!” He tossed his head back with a pitiful moan.

“All in good time.” Peter let the wide-eyed box watch as he lubed up the plug. “It might be wider than anything you’ve had, but Wade’s body is well accustomed to it.”

The older man swiveled his head, tracking the large chunk of silicone until it disappeared behind him. He groaned as his lover pressed it to his fluttering rim, breaching him slowly and stretching him wide. With a wince he let out a panicked trill.

“Yeah, still might sting a little.”

By the time the silicone sat nestled into place, White was huffing hard through his nose but sporting a full erection. Once Peter set the plug to vibrate, the box begged outright: “Oh, gah, anna come!”

“Aw, my poor, poor monster, so hard and ready. But it’s far too soon for that.” Peter bent down to give a few kitten licks near the tip. “Does this pretty cock want some attention?”

“Ez, leaze, Eakher, you ’ucker.” The box trembled, squinting, his breaths fast. “Leaze.”

“Oh, I gotcha, my good white box.” With the excess lube on his hand, he stroked his lover a few times. “Let’s see how you like my next trick.” Again he let White watch as he lubed the clear silicone fleshlight. Gently he fit it over just the tip, a tease that had the box gulping and pleading, his eyes bright and desperate. “You want more?”

With White’s first sob, Peter guided the nub-lined stroker all the way down his length and stopped. Trembling the box issued a loud protest while Peter absently ran his nails over the bigger man’s flexing ass. At a speed too slow to satisfy, the younger man pulled the fleshlight back a quarter inch only to slam it back down to the base a moment later. Next came a half inch, then three quarters, by the time Peter reached two inches, White spasmed in his bindings, his legs absolutely quaking.

Peter picked up a bit of speed and dropped to one knee. A firm grip on the base, he tugged the plug in tandem with his strokes. A light sweat broke over his beloved’s spasming body as the bigger man strained.

“Eyes open. Keep them on me.”

Every time they fluttered closed, Peter stopped until White could focus. Then he again started with just the tip. White raved nonsense into his gag, begging and sobbing in a pure desperation that Peter doubted the box had ever known before now. Back arched and abs rippling he fought the webs that held him, muscles bulging through his bindings. After several edgings, when his pleas turned fevered, Peter pulled the stroker off him entirely.

“Leaze, Eakher! Uck me!”

“Tsk, tsk, I think a vibrating cock sleeve might be just the thing to keep you right where I want you for a few.” Peter set the stroker aside. He selected the sleeve with two egg vibes and slid it onto his lover’s raging erection. With the sleeve in place, he turned the vibes to a middling power setting. Pleased with the resultant whimper, he slipped under his lover to stand at the man’s back. “Feel good?”

“Nokh enoukh! Oh gah, Eakher, anna come, leaze, Eakher, leaze!” The instant Peter tugged the widest part of the plug through his rim, White let out a shrill plea and shoved his ass back in a frantic attempt to reclaim the stimulation.

“Oh?” Peter cooed between the bigger man’s shoulder blades as he plucked the plug from his lover. “And here I thought you wanted my cock in your ass.”

Whining in wretched need, the big man shook as he let his head hang limply against a support web.

Peter grabbed one of Wade’s boot knives. Mindful of the big man’s skin, he severed the supports from the topmost edge of his lover’s thighs, allowing him to sink into a deeper split. “Now that I can reach you, do you want me to fuck you?”

“Ez! Leaze!” White screeched into the gag.

“Aw, so sweet, but I’m all locked away.” Once he adjusted the vibrations to a high, thumping pulse, Peter drizzled a bit of fresh lube onto the plug before slamming it home.

White issued a hysterical squeal that ended on a warm, happy hum.

“Still gonna rail you so hard Yellow’s gonna be insufferable tomorrow.”

The bigger man answered with a strangled wheeze.

With fresh lube in the fleshlight, Peter replaced the sleeve with the stroker. Working both toys slowly, he growled, “Sing for me, monster; let me hear you roar.”

Each stroke of the toys brought a loud, pained gasp from White as he convulsed in need. Pleas growing ever higher, he could pass for an Irish tenor.

Peter let his boyfriend’s fire cool one last time. He pulled the stroker off, replacing it with his mouth, his fist tight at his lover’s base. A final tease, he dragged the ridges of his palate over the sensitive tip before settling in to drive White over the edge. Eyes closed, lost in the rhythm, the first pulse of come came as a surprise. Peter swallowed, eager for all White had to offer.

The smaller man stood, finding himself a bit lightheaded. “Better?”

“Ez, Eakher.” The box slumped in his webs.

Peter removed the gag.

“That was… unexpected.”

“You likey?”

“I lovey.” White chuckled, swaying in his bonds.

“Glad to be—” A heavy knock at the door drew Peter’s attention. He lifted White to a more comfortable level and webbed the man into place. “Don’t you go anywhere. You stay right here.” He pointed a single finger straight down as he spoke.

While calculating the best way to shatter the box’s mind, Peter pulled on his robe and hurried to get their food, taking care to tip the delivery gal well in case White hadn’t added one to the total. He deposited the containers on the table before sauntering back to the man trapped in his webs.

Barely grazing his fingertips from balls to tip, he asked, “Now, are you ready to get started, or do you want breakfast first?”

White’s boggled expression left Peter quite satisfied. “Breakfast, please.”

“You sure? Once I let Wade down, he hates going back up.”

“Yes, Peter.” Flushed, the box turned in a futile effort to hide.

“My monster’s shy?” Peter steered his lover to meet his gaze.

The box blushed deepened and ran halfway to his bellybutton. “I don’t want to make Wade angry if your blood sugar tanks.”

“Ah.”

Yellow and now White reacted with fear to the mere idea of forgetting to feed Peter. For a year he had fought to keep the boxes from driving his immortal lover to suicide, but the ex-merc apparently could inflict some damage on them in return. He simply wasn’t willing to do so for his own sake. _How utterly, heartbreakingly sad._

Except hadn’t Wade once said something about transporting them into the void of space? Maybe that was the only viable threat he had. But in all fairness Peter needed to concentrate on White for the moment and leave his questions for later. Even so he wondered what Wade was doing while Peter was abusing and amusing White.

Peter cut the box down but left his arms bound. “Go sit, monster.”

“Yes, Peter.” The big man struggled into his chair while the smaller put out forks and coffee to go with their food.

“So if our readers like it when you feed me, will they like it if I feed you?”

White barked an indulgent laugh. “Oh, I’m certain they will.”

Not used to being so domestic in his affections, Peter eyed the box’s egg and spinach pita, obviously meant to eaten like a sandwich. So should he cut it up and use a fork or feed it to his lover bare handed? Considering White’s prim formality and Peter’s distinct desire not to make a huge mess, he used a fork and knife to cut off a small bite.

Then he had to scooch his chair much closer to be able to reach the bigger man. _Damn, Wade makes this look so easy. _Peter braced a hand at the base of his lover’s skull and guided the food to his pink lips.

White opened obediently, but instead of waiting for Peter, he flicked his tongue out to pull the food from the fork and into his mouth. At the smaller man’s appreciative moan, he smirked as he awaited the next bite.

“Naughty boy.” Peter stood up and slipped behind White’s chair. “Trying to take control.” He lowered the chairback to the floor and nudged for the box to roll toward his own seat. With a little finesse, he arranged his lover sitting cross-legged at his feet. “There now, let’s try that again.”

He cut a second small bite. A hand at the bigger man’s jaw, he guided the fork as White opened his mouth. The box allowed his lover to feed him this time.

“There’s my good monster.”

White blinked up, his smile soft and genuine. “Thank you, Peter.” Forehead against the smaller man’s knee, he added, “Don’t forget to feed yourself.”

Nibbling his bacon, Peter eyed the decadent cream cheese and strawberry crepes. He cut off a tiny bit and leaned down to offer the first bite to White.

“Oh?” As the box took what he was given, his chuckle ran up Peter’s spine, leaving him hopelessly enamored.

“Good boy.”

Eyes half lidded and utterly besotted, White beamed up at him. “Thank you, Peter.”

Oh, new kink unlocked. That shattered expression made Peter want to spend the entire day feeding different delicacies to White just to watch him enjoy the experience.

Every other bite, he leaned down and offered to White, and breakfast went by a bit quicker than the webslinger wanted. Still, White had made him come until he was begging for it to stop, and Peter definitely wanted to repay the favor.

“On your feet, monster.” Peter let him struggle to his feet unassisted before peppering his face and neck with small, affectionate kisses. “Ready to go up again?”

“If it pleases.” That had to be the most demure White had ever been the entire time Peter had known Wade.

“Oh, my monster does please.”

Flushed from the praise, White allowed the younger man to guide him to the center of the room. Peter checked the webs that secured his lover’s arms to his torso. They were sitting nicely, without impeding blood flow or inflaming the brachial nerve.

Peter’s first webs supported the bigger man’s frame low on his hips. Then he leaned his boyfriend forward. From that single anchor, Peter added support lines down his back, keeping his body perfectly level. He webbed the bigger man’s thighs spread but not in a full split. Last he bent both knees and webbed the ankles straight up.

“Mmm, pretty.” With a knuckle under White’s chin Peter lifted his lover’s face until their gazes met. “Comfy?”

“Yes, Peter.” The words ended on a whimper as the box bit his lip.

“Oh, you’re definitely going to enjoy this, monster.” An easy flex with a single finger set the older man in a slow, spiraling swing.

White made a pleased little chirrup.

Peter slipped away to pull the strap-on dildo over his own caged equipment. He selected an open-ended stroker egg and lubed both well. Back between his lover’s legs, he steadied the bigger man with a hand at the small of his back. When he leaned down to fondle his boyfriend, White took a deep breath and let it out in a soft, expectant hum.

“There’s my good monster. Just relax. This won’t hurt… Much… Yet…”

At that promise White veritably rippled in his webs. The plaintive croak that eked from him left Peter aching in his cage.

“Do you want a gag, or can you remember my ears are sensitive?”

“Gag.” The box made a strained whimper as he raised his head and twisted to get a glimpse of his beloved. “Something I can bite.”

Peter smirked down at the man, enjoying the rush of having a man so powerful entirely under his control. “Genuine pillow biter?”

Heat spread over that ruined skin, and White let his head drop. “Yes, Peter.”

Peter left the egg cradled in the small of White’s back. Sorting through the toybox, he asked, “Simple straight bit or the doggy bone?” Both had faint impressions of Wade’s teeth.

“Simple’s good.”

The foam ball caught Peter’s eye; a clown nose, he realized. He brought that and the bit to where White hung. Once he secured the gag, he pressed the nose into his lover’s hand. “If you need me to stop, just drop the ball.”

White nodded.

The sex started slowly, teasing with just the stroker. Once his lover started shaking, Peter pulled the man backward, onto the phallus, inch by inch. When their groins met, Peter broke into a full-on fuck: deep, hard, and relentless. Moving White’s entire body, he jerked the stroker in time with his hips.

Soon White shivered as he spilled across the floor under them.

Peter didn’t even break stride.

Oversensitive White trembled and wailed. No matter, within minutes he came again. And again right after that. At four White was shaking apart under Peter’s hands, screaming for mercy into the gag.

He let the bigger man calm before stating, “That’s one. Here comes two.”

The box sucked for air but made no further sign of distress.

Peter took that as agreement and set to ravaging White again, not stopping until the third release, when every muscle in his lover’s body stood out, straining to break away from the overwhelming sensations. “Mmm, good monster.” Once White calmed, Peter leaned close to growl, “Ready for three?”

Though White nodded, he did so slowly, reluctantly.

Peter grinned, well aware of how it felt to be torn between wanting more and needing the torment to end. After adding fresh lube, he took White gently to his next orgasm, picking up speed as the big man spasmed under him. After the man’s second release, anguish lined his lover, and Peter relented, allowing the man to sag in his bonds.

“You took me four times, so are you ready for the last round?” With the difference in their healing factors, four to the triangular of four was fair, dammit.

The unmistakable sound of sobbing never broke even as White nodded again, but while Peter eased into him, a deep, pleased rumble filled the room.

“Oh, you like just the dildo? Wanna let that poor, overstimulated cock rest?” Peter knew the answer and allowed him a few more seconds of recovery before adding the egg again.

White fought and bucked as he strained against the webs. His body convulsed as a final few pearls of come dripped from him.

“Shh, easy. Such a good monster for me,” Peter soothed as he pulled back. He tossed the strap-on and the stroker into the to-be-cleaned pile. “I’m gonna take your gag now.” While White held perfectly still, Peter loosened the straps and pulled the bit free. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. So very okay.” White barely lifted his head as he whispered, “I felt it all.”

“Let me clean up some of this before I cut you down?”

“’Kay.” Limp, the box swayed with the dying momentum from the smaller man’s affections.

“Don’t check out on me before you get your snuggles,” Peter insisted.

“That curtain fell, baby boy.”

He grinned down at Wade. “White keeps running off before his aftercare.”

“You sank his battleship.” The big man giggled. “Best way to shut up a box ever.” With minute contractions of his core muscles, he gained momentum, swinging like a pendulum. “Damn it’s quiet in here.”

Peter hummed for his boyfriend to continue as he mopped up the mess from under Wade.

“I knew my crazy loved your crazy, but never expected we’d get time alone by letting them out to play. White’s out cold, and Yellow’s off with his spank bank and crayons, wet dreaming about tomorrow. It’s just you and me, baby.” With a sultry laugh, the ex-merc asked, “So you ready for your morning correction, your punishment for coming without permission, and a riveting round of make bootcamp great again?” His fingers made grabby motions though he couldn’t reach for his boy. “Then _my_ beef bayonet could use some spidery slap and tickle.”

Eyes rolling Peter groaned, though a light, happy sensation settled in his chest. “You’re cutting into my Saturday outreach patrol.” He placed the fine-honed boot knife into the ex-merc’s hand so the big man could cut himself free. “But, yeah, let’s do it anyway.”

“So why we doin’ this, baby boy?” Wade asked, contorting for a fast, precise cut along the webbing from wrist to hip, then over toward his neck.

Peter tried to stifle his laugh as he dropped to his knees. “Cuz we’ve compressed years of dating into a few weeks of tanning my ass?”

“Fair assessment.” Amused, Wade emerged from his cocoon with his killer’s grace. “Assume the position, baby boy.”

Once braced over his chair, Peter asked, “Daddy, will you remind your boy to be mindful, obedient, respectful, and honest?”

Wade took one swaggering step. “Holy oleo, spider babe, I’m drenched in enough slick to make this an A/B/O story.” He kicked out with one foot, shaking his hips a bit as if to settle the liquid.

“Sorry, Daddy.” Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing from the bigger man’s scandalized expression alone, as he barely understood any of that.

Mouth round in shock, Wade glanced down. “What did you do to Junior? He’s not standing at attention.”

“I only gave him what he wanted, Daddy. Over and over again until White was sated.”

“You killed him,” the giant goofus bemoaned. “All this talk of power and responsibility, and you murdered him the instant my back was turned!” He slapped his penis a few times. “Speak to me old pal! I’m sorry for every time I took you for granite!”

Peter could barely contain his chortle long enough to snark, “Junior knew the risks going in. He died in the service of the greater good.”

“What the hell greater good is that?” Wade demanded, still trying to revive his penis.

“Um, otherwise Buffy never comes to Sunnydale, and it’s overrun by vampires?”

“Greater good it is. I would have also accepted ‘Otherwise Bea Arthur never got into the Marines.’ What? It’s a fact; look it up.”

“Oh, I believe you. I just can’t believe you.”

After one relentless session with Peter’s Punishment Paddle™, thirty scorching kisses from Helen, and fifteen minutes in the corner to calm himself, the timer went off. Peter tottered to the couch and flopped onto his stomach. Though his sobs had stopped, his eyes felt like he’d forgotten to blink on a run through the Sahara. The cresting sting that radiated from his bruised flesh drew a whimper from him every few seconds.

“You’re still the best person I’ve ever known, my little gaybie of fondest delights.” Wade slid a hip onto the couch and wriggled relentlessly until he sat with Peter’s face in his lap. “So what’re your plans for the day?”

Peter snuggled down on his side. “After a midday patrol I need to go through the memory cards from my cameras and see if there’s anything the Bugle would want.”

“Not like you need the money. You should start taking artsy-fartsy photos again instead.”

He blew out a soft sigh. “Prob’ly but I like having a little extra every month for the fun stuff.”

“A mil ain’t enough?” Wade huffed.

“Ugh, I forgot about that entirely.” Peter sat up. “Dude died. A lot.”

The ex-merc flashed a tiny calm smile. “Happens sometimes.” He combed his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “Never seen White so bent outta shape. He’s been kinda squirrelly ever since.”

“Oh?”

“Said it yourself, Petey-pie: He’s scared. Of me. He’s never been scared of me before.”

“Yeah.” Peter tucked his feet under him and leaned back. “What did you threaten them with last time? They’re both terrified they’ll forget to feed me.”

“Told them they’d lose Peter Playdate Privileges™ if they didn’t take good care of you.”

Despite his suspicions that the threat went a bit deeper, Peter let the answer stand. It told him what he wanted to know: Whatever secret White kept, he was afraid it would cost him the webhead’s affection.

_I should ask Bruce about that Compound X07 come Monday._

Wade’s broken whisper barely penetrated Peter’s thoughts. “I love the way you shatter.” His thick fingers wrapped firmly around the back of his lover’s neck, both thumbs pressing up at his jaw. “Some days I want to punish you—dole out the real hurt—and watch you try to gather up all the broken pieces.”

Peter leaned into the possessive touch. “Some days I’d let you.”

One hand loose on the fragile column of his beloved’s throat, Wade snatched a handful of hair and used it to force Peter into his lap. “Today one ’a them days?”

Tasting blood, Peter released his lip before meeting his lover’s gaze. “Yes,” he admitted, but _Daddy_ didn’t feel right, and the next word slipped from him unbidden, “Owner.”

Recovered from his surprise in a tenth of a second, Wade purred, “Mmm, you might be a little slut, but you’re my little slut. I love the way you wear my marks like cherished heirlooms.” He squeezed his way down this boyfriend’s ribs. “Mine to ruin as I see fit. Brand like a breeding stud.”

Peter heard an implied request for permission and quaked at the thought, certain Wade didn’t intend to only bruise him this time. “Owner, will you mark your slut so everyone can see he’s yours?”

“Damn, and me without my branding iron.” Wade pulled the younger man’s arms behind his back and squeezed both wrists in one hand.

A grounding sensation flooded Peter’s mind, making the world ripple and sparkle. “Raincheck then?”

“No.” Wade stood, forcing the smaller man to wrap both legs around his waist. “Permanent marks are one of your hard limits.” Of course he’d remember that.

“And if it wasn’t?”

“I’d have already carved _Property of Deadpool_ across your chest and _Fuck Me, Daddy_ across your ass.” The big man’s crooked smile radiated mischief. “So you think you’d let me brand you. Scarification ain’t for the faint of heart, little spider.” His laugh had a hard edge. “Do you know how much that’ll hurt?”

“Nope.” Peter grinned in carefree madness. “I’d still let you.”

“Right here?” A kiss tickled under his ear.

Aware that location would prove excessively sensitive, Peter still replied, “Yes, Owner.”

“Alright then, let’s see how you do.”

His brain stuttered for a moment, unsure what to think or how to feel, but he put his trust in his lover. “Yes, Owner.”

“Fuck.” Wade blinked at him. “How the hell do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what, Owner?” Peter grinned in connived innocence at forcing the bigger man to find words for the overwhelming and irrational feelings they shared.

“Finding new and interesting ways to make my heart stop, my little spidery strumpet.” Wade sat Peter in his dining chair. “Making me believe you think I’m worth a shit.” Caressing the smaller man’s cheek, he let his thumb brush over Peter’s lips until it was allowed inside to press the smaller man’s tongue down. “Letting me do every fucked-up thing I want and still coming back, eager for more.”

Never breaking eye contact, Peter swirled his tongue over his lover’s thumb before sucking it lewdly.

“Oh, we’ll get to that, my little stud muffin. For right now, stay.” He strutted away with an easy gait.

Holy of holies, today was a low pain day.

How’d he not notice sooner?

White, right, he’d spent the early morning with White.

From the bedroom, Wade muttered about winter gear. After a bit of digging, he returned with a microwave handwarmer. “I prefer freezing,” he stated, as if that explained anything.

In near perfect silence Wade rifled through the kitchen. The microwave hummed on for a minute, then the ex-merc returned, smirking in that infuriating way.

Heated plastic brushed Peter’s neck, making him jump.

“See, that’s exactly what we don’t want, Peter Parker pumpkin barker.”

“Yes, Owner.” He bit his lip to keep down a nervous giggle.

“Now then.” The heat settled below his ear. “This’ll get the skin ready.” One big hand placed his smaller one over the heat pack. “Don’t let it slip.” Several minutes later compressed gas hissed, and he realized his lover was chilling something. A thick arm braced his head. “Okay, pull it back now.”

When Peter complied, COLD bit into the warmth, leaving him to swallow his scream. Nothing he’d ever experienced had been so damned frigid. Warring against his instincts, he managed to hold still through the lick of ice searing in his veins.

Huffing out his nose, he drooped as the shock wore away.

“Mmm, gotta admit my mark looks damned scrumptious on you. Go look.”

Peter hurried to the bathroom and tugged down the towel over the mirror. Sure enough a small red outline in the shape of Deadpool’s mask sat just under his ear. He stared in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, _meine böse Spinnechen der Liebe;_ it’ll fade in a few hours.” Arms crossed Wade filled the doorway.

Peter couldn’t keep his lip from pushing out in his disappointment. “But… I want it, Daddy.”

“Well I want that pout wrapped around my cock, and only one of us is getting what he wants in the next ten seconds.”

His brain caught up to the present. “…Wait, you mean a real brand would be even colder than that?”

“Yes and no.” The big man gestured to the crotch of his sweatpants, where his erection had become obvious.

“It’s a miracle!” Keeping his eyes locked on his boyfriend’s, Peter dropped to his knees. He nuzzled through the fabric and inhaled his lover’s woodsy musk, rich and earthy with only the slightest hint of decay, like leaves in fall. _A good skin day._ “He’s back from the dead.”

“Plot armor. Can’t have ‘porn without plot’ without the porn.”

“Damn, shoulda said, ‘We can rebuild him, make him better.’”

“Robodick.” Wade snickered.

In reply Peter snorted. “Nah, Naked Gun 2 ½: The Smell of Fear.”

“More like Penetrator 2: Judgment Day.”

“How bout Orgazmo?” He ran a finger to outline his lover’s erection through the cloth.

“Tease.” Still, Wade didn’t move, content to stand and watch. To feel.

Using one hand and then the other, Peter oh-so-slowly tugged the older man’s waistband down, over his hips, until his erection sprang free. Scars familiar on his lips and heft comfortable on his tongue, Peter took his time, enjoying the weight of his lover’s stare, the big man’s expression bewildered, as if he still expected Peter to vanish with each breath.

Still curious about branding, he prompted, “Yes and no? Not much of an answer.”

“Colder, yeah. But the temperature shock won’t be as bad. Particularly if we ice it first.”

_Oh, such an asshole, dilated his capillaries just to ensure the cold took a savage bite._ Peter let his annoyance show through the faintest graze of bare incisors before covering them again with his lip.

Wade replied with a stroke of his fingertips across his boy’s cheek. “Bad toothy boy’s get punished.”

Blinking up, Peter could only hum his acceptance as he chased the caress.

The other massive hand snagged his hair, pulling his scalp taut. No care was taken to keep him from gagging as his lover’s cock shoved forward. He didn’t attempt to hide the damp sparkle of his eyes. Such modesties fell away in their first week of dating, and he never regretted the loss.

The ex-merc growled, low and fierce. Sharp canines visible in his cruel smirk, pleasure etched his features as he forced himself deeper. Rough and mean, he reveled in debasing his boy with every thrust. Wade had seldom punished Peter before bootcamp, but he’d savored each and every opportunity to abuse the webslinger’s body. Now, even after weeks of taking every pleasure he desired, his sadistic joy never flagged.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry for—” Wade let out an angry growl and pressed his hands to either side of his boy’s head.

As the older man raised him to stand, Peter whimpered at the loss of the scarred and rigid cock. “Daddy?”

“Isn’t Spidey scheduled to head out to build some good will right about now?” Wade licked across his upper teeth as if he could feel Peter’s flesh give under them, taste the blood.

“Yes, Daddy.” His own bare feet dominated his vision, as he reluctantly pulled back from his lover. He could be in his suit and out the door in less than ten min—

“Cancel it.” Wade’s gravelly voice carved those words in granite.

The emotionless ferocity of the command made Peter flinch. “Yes, Daddy.”

A surge of emotions swarmed him at once: Surprise at his own ready agreement. Deeply suppressed secret terror at what could have caused that mood swing. Giddy joy at the thought of devoting the entire day to his lover. Shame that he allowed Deadpool to override Spider-man. Affection for the big man, with a bit to spare for his evil ways. Dread over how easily he obeyed the maniac. Those traces of guilt that tainted every aspect of their relationship after the ex-merc had sacrificed too much to placate his morality. Overtop all that, Peter could hardly breathe from his eager anticipation for whatever his boyfriend had planned in the last thirty seconds.

Peter’s thoughts cut off when Wade drove him back into the wall, those big hands taking the brunt, protecting his head. Caged between massive arms he focused entirely on the man who loomed over him.

“You and I’re gonna talk, little spider. First you do not mention anything about permanent marks to Yellow. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Second, your ass is going out tomorrow with one of your friends, even if I have to kidnap torch boy myself. Yellow can just get over himself for a few hours. I’m tired as fuck of having to defend our fucked-up fixation against White’s constant badgering about codependency without any goddamned ammo to back me.”

He glanced to one side. “There, fuckin’ happy now, bitch…? I have not yet begun to destroy our Petey-pie, you motherfucking shitstain.

“Third, we’re going out for collars. To-damned-day.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now, go sit on the couch.” Once Peter obeyed, Wade stood behind him. Distant but adamant, he commanded, “Talk. Now.”

“I’ve taken too much from you. I never thought you’d retire from murder for hire just because I asked, but damn I’m so proud of you.”

“Whoa. Hold up.” Both strong hands dropped on Peter’s shoulders. “I’ve seen what happens when I don’t, baby boy, and it ain’t pretty. Sometimes you join me on the road to hell, sometimes you die, but most of the time we break each other into a bajillion sad little jagged pieces, and all of Stark’s gadgets and all of his Avengers, couldn’t put Spidey back together again.” Wade let out a heavy sigh. “When we started teaming up I was only taking unaliving jobs to placate the boxes, make them livable. White’d get Yellow wound up—which thanks by the way, you gangrenous canker—and the only way to shut them up was to give them what they wanted. And now all they want is you.”

Wade growled at the box again. “Why don’t you go take a dirt nap while me and our baby boy work some shit out…? Because it’s my body and my fuckin’ boyfriend… Let me explain it this way: If you don’t want Petey-pie dragging our fugly ass to some pee-sychiatrist in that damned tower, you _will_ fuckin’ back down right goddamned now… Oh, don’t think I won’t.” Two seconds later he buried his fist in the plaster.

“Hey, monster,” Peter cooed softly, “what’s wrong?”

Panicked the box hurriedly replied, “Peter, while you were… down there, Wade was thinking of all sorts of disgusting ways to ruin you: tattoos, brands, piercings, lighting gunpowder in grooves he’d cut in your back, hell, even ear notches. You need to run. Get away while you still can. While someone else will still have you.”

“White…” Peter groaned as he tamped down his temper about that last bit. On his feet he wrapped his arms around the box. “Good looking out but Wade’s not the only one thinking about all that—well, except for the gunpowder thing, since I didn’t know it was an option—but that’s all we’re doing right now. Just thinking.” He stroked over his lover’s bald head. “I want a mark, but for today, Wade’s right: I’ll settle for a collar.”

How such a big man could look so small, Peter couldn’t imagine. “You’ll regret being scarred up when you leave us.”

“Dammit, White, I’d like to think that I’ll always look on you three fondly, no matter what happens.” He took a calming breath, for what little good it did. “There’s no way to force you to believe me, no way to predict the future, but I’m staying. With you and Yellow and Wade. I’m happy here: happy with my job, with Spider-man, with you three assholes. Even with our mutual obsession.”

“One day you’ll see it. When the honeymoon’s over the charm will wear off, and you’ll see we’re nothing but a cold-blooded killer.”

Same damned fight. He shoved down the urge to throttle White, focusing instead on how vulnerable he must feel to say these things again and again. “You don’t have me fooled into thinking you’re better than you are. I know you’re a killer, but you’re so much more. So much. You’re cultured and sensitive. Yellow is curious and playful. Wade’s funny and passionate.”

“…Damned pushy asshole.” Wade glanced around. “Seems to be gone off to sulk now.” He sat beside Peter and pulled the smaller man into his lap. “I meant it’s time to talk about the pineapple in room.”

“You dialed it up to eleven; I need you to dial it back to ten. Not much to talk about.”

“Dial it back?” Wade cackled at the mere thought. “Not my strong suit, baby boy.”

Peter shrugged as he rubbed Yellow’s scar on his inner thigh. “That mean you’ll do it?”

The big man scoffed. “Of course it does. Now go get dressed. Oh, wear the lacy green panties; I haven’t seen those on you yet.”


	21. Evening of Day 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought that day would never end. It took an unreasonable while, but I finally got Petey put to bed.

The sheer variety of collars in the quirky, colorful shop made Peter’s head spin: standard black leather, plain metal bands with no obvious openings, spikes and studs and lace and sparkle. Once he’d narrowed it down to three, he waved Wade over.

In jeans and a pink bunny tee that said “Love Explosion”, the man had his healthy but scarred skin on display. “Whadda ya like, baby boy?”

Peter held up an opalescent blue leather collar with rhinestone letters that spelled DADDY’S TOY. The second one had black lace, silver bells, and plentiful chains. Last he held up a simple heavy chain with a heart padlock, both in gunmetal black.

“More my style than yours,” Wade commented, his body grooving to the B-52s Love Shack.

“Shouldn’t it suit us both?”

“Kinda thought you might like a day collar.”

Peter tilted his head. “Day collar?”

“Something that won’t make Banner raise a brow if you wore it to work.”

“Oh. That’s an option?” Peter felt his grin grow three sizes. “That’s genius.”

He set the lacy one and the sparkly one aside but kept the chain one as Wade redirected his attention to a display case with dozens of necklaces. Most closed with locking clasps or pendants. Chainmail? Leather thong? Silver filigree? He wanted to like one so badly, but none of them really spoke to him.

Turning over the one in his hands, he asked, “You think Bruce or Tony will protest this one?”

“They’ll protest anything if I’m involved.” Wade outright smirked. “Particularly anything that involves you.”

“But is it too obvious?”

“Not for Simon Ferocious.” With a sigh he took it from Peter and held it up to ensure the attendant watched as he draped it around Peter’s neck and snicked the lock closed. One nonexistent brow raised, Wade suggested, “A little longer and the lock will tuck into your shirt.”

“But, Daddy, I like the idea of everyone being able to see…” He huffed his annoyance at the world for making him be moderately discreet. “Yes, Daddy, the longer one. At least this is a bit saner than the thing Yellow doesn’t need to overhear—I wouldn’t have regretted it, not for a second, but thanks for not letting me be that impulsive.”

“Anytime, baby boy.” Wade turned to the lady behind the counter, with her indigo-blue 40s pin-up hair, cat’s-eye glasses, velvet leopard print, and sailor tattoos. “You got this in an 18 inch?”

From a shelf behind her she pulled down a neon turquoise bin labeled Large and pawed through the contents. “Seems like… Ah, got your kicks right here. Think fast.” She tossed a packaged chain toward Wade.

One handed, he snatched it from the air. “Real cherry, boss Betty. What about a 22 for my own grody pipe?”

“Don’t know, daddy-o…” She sorted through an electric orange bin labeled Stacked. “Not a 22. But I make these myself. Cut the chain I mean, ya know, no sweat. Gimme five?”

Instead of answering Wade raised his hand.

So she slapped his palm with a quirked half-grin. “Well, ain’t you the hep cat.” From a cupboard under the counter she pulled out a reel of chain, then stuck her head back in. “No go on the gunmetal heart. Snag another off the displays or grab a different bingo card.” She came back up with a box labeled Black Ice. “Got plenty of matchy-matchy to go around.”

Wade looked to Peter.

“Do you have anything in red or spiders?” he blurted.

Code switching, she answered Peter in plain English: “Not exactly spiders but Skully, my supplier, he makes these little, enamel Spider-man locks. I have a few left in stock if you want to see?”

Unable to trust that he wouldn’t giggle if he opened his mouth, Peter replied with a too-sharp nod.

Back into the cabinet she went. “Ooh, you’re in luck, ice black.” She placed a dainty lock with his mask pattern in front of him.

Wade snickered. “The only thing that could be more perfect is if we got a Deadpool lock to match.” By the time the woman’s eyes rounded in recognition, he already had a gun aimed between them. “Oh, now that is a problem.”

“Stop.” Peter dropped his hand on his lover’s tensed forearm. “We knew people were piecing it together.”

Posture frozen, she sucked her bubble back into her mouth. “I’m mum on your tale, nightingale.”

“Not yet you ain’t.” Still Wade’s finger eased pressure from the trigger.

“Wade, listen to me, dammit: I hereby give—” Peter checked her name tag “—Brandy permission to see my face.”

“You sure about that, baby boy? I can make this all go away real easy.”

“Wade, stop it.” The instant his finger was clear of the trigger, Peter snagged the gun and, with a shift of his weight, tossed the big asshole halfway across the room. “No killing.”

When Wade bowled over a display, Brandy barked an amused laugh that she cut short. “Thanks, dreamboat. Oh, Skully’s Deadpools.” By the time Peter turned around, she was digging in the cabinet again as if nothing had happened. She placed the Deadpool lock and a weird connector with an allen wrench on the counter beside the Spider-man one. “Since discretion is that important for you, this is the least obtrusive lock I have. Also the toughest. What I’d recommend for your lifestyle.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” With a slow nod Peter studied her closely. “Um, you okay?”

“Been around the block. But ain’t that the bite.”

Never one to be outsnarked, Peter grinned. “I can dig it.”

“I’ll flip out later,” she assured him with an exaggerated wink. “Permission to eyeball the Clyde behind the hide so frosty Chancy would shimmy his heater outta my face? …Righto, I can boggle how that might spaz the average square.”

He held up both hands, making a box with his thumbs and forefingers. “Wouldn’t want the L-7s to freak out.”

“Aren’t you the grinchiest?” She blew a small pink bubble before popping it with a crisp snap. To Wade she added, “You lucky stiff.”

Display righted, he scooped an armful of adult novelties off the floor. “I like her. Think we should invite her to book club?”

Peter surely turned several shades of vermillion right down to his toes. “There’s more book club?”

The big man shrugged as he dumped the sex toys in the general vicinity of their original location. “Author says we have two more for bootcamp. Says the last one’s gonna be the climax.”

“I love books. Even better ones with good climaxes.” She gestured around the shop. “Though I do have specific tastes.”

“See, fine girl’ll fit right in.”

With both radiating eager anticipation, Peter groaned as Wade’s chaos swallowed him whole. “Fine. Invite who you please.”

“I hope you remember that later.” Wade sauntered back to Peter’s side with the kind of smirk that assured him the bigger man had plans he wouldn’t like.

Once they finalized the details Brandy snipped the length of chain. The florescent overhead lights flashed off the needle-nose pliers in each hand, as she fitted both chains with the locking connectors. “That’s $245.60. Do you want to wear them out, or shall I box them up?”

The ex-merc sat three hundreds on the counter, his business card on top, tapping it twice in emphasis. “If you’re free after eight Monday, we’ll be at the Blasted Heath. This will get you and a friend inside.” Leaning forward he conspired in a whisper, “It’ll be the kinkiest show you’ve ever seen.”

“Wait, _the_ After Eight show? Everyone gets the shaft at the door… Unless you’re fast and easy with one of the Deviant Divas.” Brandy gasped. “_That’s_ your book club?”

“Technically that’s Deadpool’s Deviant Divas’ Decadent Dramatics, so um, yeah, my book club. Like literally.”

“Oh, killer, you better believe I’ll be there with bells on. Like literally.”

“My reputation is shot.” Peter clutched the bridge of his nose so hard his eye sockets creaked. “Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?”

“`Probably. Our readers get extra you’re-so-old points if they caught Wade’s reference to the Looking Glass’s 1972 hit song Brandy.`”

_White?_ Peter glanced over his shoulder, but no one was there. “I need some air.” He wandered out of the store a bit stunned, only to be blinded by the midday sun. Eyes closed, the world resolved to red and warm. The city bustled around him, a familiar comfort.

An eternity later Wade joined him outside, oversized shopping bag in hand. He bounced the bag, and the contents jingled like sleigh bells.

Peter cocked a brow. “Loud for two chains and two locks.”

“You’re the one who bruised the merchandise.” His lover quirked his lips into a sly grin.

“Me?” He gasped in mild outrage. “You pulled a gun on the clerk; what did—?”

“Turns out she’s the owner and sole proprietor. And a wicked little thing to boot. To think she almost died; you should be more careful, Petey-pie.”

He managed a sputter but words evaded him. Until they didn’t. “Fuck you, Wa—” powerful fingers closed on his upper arm “—de.” _Aw, shit._ For real and true, he’d never had a genuine problem with f-bombs until he met Deadpool.

The ex-merc rumbled in an amused purr, “Oh, baby boy, how… unfortunate. And you’d been doing so well.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, Daddy, but we both know damned well I’m not.”

His grin only widened. “Good boy for being honest with me, but it won’t get you outta this, my darling spidery princeling.” Those wide blunt fingers sank deeper into the meat of Peter’s arm. “I guess we’ll be having pizza for lunch since Mama Dee’s has a spacious family restroom.”

Face flaming Peter took some consolation in the fact that the big man wasn’t marching him down the street by the ear. Some. Not much. Whether people were staring or not, he felt their eyes on him. That sensation intensified as they moved through the restaurant. When the bathroom door locked behind them, he let out a long, stale breath.

When Peter tried to peek into the bag while Wade rummaged through the chiming contents, the jerk clutched it to his chest and turned around. “Unh-uh-uh, baby boy, Daddy’s toys.” After he hung the bag on the door hook, he wore a cheesy grin as he showed his boyfriend two parallel lengths of clear hose, filled with ball bearings, secured to a katana-hilt handle. “Couldn’t help myself. Now you hold my boy’s thumper while I wash his gag. Wouldn’t want to disturb anyone while they eat.”

The ball of the gag bore Wade’s mask pattern, and Peter snorted a quiet laugh. “Is that bag full of handcrafted Deadpool merchandise?”

“Ma-a-aybe.” Wade ran the water and dispensed some foaming soap. After a good wash and rinse, he returned to his lover. Far too amused, he placed the ball in Peter’s mouth and turned him to latch the strap at the back of his head. “Give Daddy his toy, baby boy.”

Biting his lip into the ball with anxious anticipation Peter handed the weighted thumper to Wade.

“Pants down and palms on the wall.”

Stomach in knots, his legs wavered as he obeyed. He braced himself, dreading the agony but eager for the burn.

Though aware that even a brutal beating with a hose would leave no mark, Peter never expected the thumper to be almost silent, far quieter than his muffled grunt at the crush sinking across his muscles. Also omitted was the throb left in its wake. Unlike their usual toys the pain curled deep under his skin, nestling against his pelvic bones.

Wade let him take a breath before the next blow knocked him into the wall. With a stunned gasp, he recentered over his feet, not wanting to earn worse by failing to hold the stance his lover dictated, though his brick wall of a lover hardly cared so long as Peter wasn’t purposefully defiant.

That ache had his dick throbbing, and he whimpered with the need that rode him.

A dozen hard smacks later Peter ran his hands over his tenderized bum, but the pain resided well beyond his reach. Instead of teary he teetered a hair’s breadth from jumping his lover right there in the bathroom. _Need to clear out in case someone needs the facilities,_ he reminded himself on repeat like a skipping record even as his heart tripped from the wicked desire raging through him.

Wade unlatched and opened the door. “Oops, almost forgot to add insult to injury.”

The plug surged inside Peter, turning his step into an unsure totter. The drone of the diners barely masked the motor. With a chortle Wade strutted to the nearest table, pulled out a chair, and swept his arm wide, inviting the younger man to sit. Once Peter gingerly slipped into place, his smirking boyfriend slid his chair to the table.

Wade delighted in every futile squirm. As the waiter took Peter’s order, the steady thrum broke into a series of pulses, which made the younger man stammer and flush hotter. Every time a customer walked by to get to the restrooms, he cooed into Peter’s ear, “What _is_ that hum?” By the time they left Mama Dee’s, the older man practically beamed with smug satisfaction.

He skipped along the sidewalk toward home. “So is Spidey your metamore while I’m the hinge?”

“Meta what now?”

He turned to walk backward as he asked, “Are you fucking Spidey?”

“Wha—?” _Of course I’m Spider-man._ “Oh, making frisky with my secret identity, gotcha.” Peter considered the idea. “Another lie. Times like this I gotta ask myself: What would Deadpool do?”

“Push everyone away so I can’t put them in danger,” the big man answered breezily.

Peter’s snort lacked real amusement. “Yeah, been there, done that, even the t-shirt sucked. This go round I plan to skip the ride and get a math tee instead.”

“Wise choice, sensai kumo. Too bad though. I can see it now.” He spread his hands, widening the grand vista between them as he expounded, “The Avengers descending on homewrecker Spidey. Stark sputtering lame-ass excuses to cover your fine booty. My baby boy dodging their attacks, _thwip thwip thwip_.”

“As hilarious as that sounds, I think I can live without the drama.”

Wade flung the back of a hand to his forehead. “Fine, create harmony in the world, see if I wither up and die. Just die.” He slumped into his lover’s arms.

“Get off me, you big goon.” Peter’s light shove proved as effective as herding cats.

Though he tried to keep walking, Wade latched on at his waist to slow the smaller man. Dissatisfied the ex-merc tightened his grip around his boyfriend as he groaned, “It’s my final death, Petey-pie, the day my Honey Bunches of Snark-n-berry Crispies refuses to go full drama queen.”

The instant Wade shut the door behind them, Peter peeled off his shirt. Propped against the door, Wade studied every inch of skin revealed, every nuance of the smaller man’s movements. Amused, Peter slowed. He swung his hips as he eased his pants down his legs, entire body writhing with the motion. As he reached his calves, he pivoted his backside to his lover. Bent in half he watched the bigger man’s shifting expression as he worked one leg free and then the other. He reached up for his lacy panties.

“Leave them. I wanna see that ass in those pretty, pretty panties.”

“Yes, Daddy.” He crossed his legs to show off his glutes while his boyfriend ogled.

“Time for a word game, baby boy.” Wade’s tone held a note of evil that raised the fine hairs on the younger man’s arms. “What you do to turn water to ice.”

“Freeze?” Peter asked through his legs.

“What you do when the trees are jizzing all over everything.”

He snickered as he replied, “Sneeze.”

“What you do when you take your clothes off real slow.”

“Tease.” He slid a thumb under his waistband.

With a cocky grin, the ex-merc flashed an ok sign. Then he slid a finger through as he said, “What you do when it won’t quite fit.”

“Um…” Peter resorted to running through the alphabet. “Grease.”

“What you do when Daddy wants his cock sucked.”

“Knees.” He stood up before turning. Chin down, he knelt with his knees spread, presenting for his beloved.

“No, you suck it.” Wade stalked forward until a hand landed on the back of the smaller man’s head. A fingertip under his chin guided Peter to meet the older man’s lust-blown gaze. “C’mon, baby boy, give Daddy a little oral support.”

Peter reached for the fly of his lover’s jeans while peering through his lashes. Voice strained and crackling, he whispered, “Please.”

“Oh yeah, baby boy, you do indeed please.” With the gravel in his voice, he sounded equally gone.

Flustered and fumbling, Peter worked the denim down the ex-merc’s muscular thighs. He needed to feel the solid connection between them, visceral affirmation that Wade felt the same overwhelming desire that scorched the smaller man with every moment they shared.

“I know,” Wade said, obviously to his boxes, his words soft and awed, “but it still amazes me every damned time I see Spidey on his knees for us. What did we ever do to deserve that?”

Peter whimpered, drawing the big man’s attention back to him. He licked his lips and opened his mouth.

“Me neither. Never. Never get tired of him. Of wrecking him.” Wade guided his cock to brush over his boyfriend’s cheek, leaving a faint trail of damp in its wake. “Ruining him.” He steadied Peter’s head with a gentle hand while sliding just the tip between the glistening rubies of his boyfriend’s lips. “Breaking him.” His caress turned to a savage hold in the smaller man’s hair as he buried himself to the hilt. “Destroying him.”

Jaw stretched, mouth filled, throat blocked, that familiar heft, Peter hummed through his nose in his contentment, glad to finally have the distance between them bridged. Hands on those scarred hips, he put the bigger man into motion, as he swirled his tongue along the underside.

Wade’s soft chuckle teased down Peter’s body. “Who’s wrecking who here?”

Peter didn’t stop and Wade didn’t make him. Instead the ex-merc let Peter have his way with him, bringing the big man to completion, savoring his essence, then pulling off his softening cock with a lewd slurp. Profoundly satisfied with the effect, the younger beamed up at his lover.

When his shudders ceased, Wade stroked his knuckles down his boyfriend’s exposed neck, the sensation just shy of painful and intensely erotic. “Very nice, baby boy.”

Even that tiny shard of praise made Peter fly.

“Stand up for me.” Despite his gentle and low coo, Wade spoke with an intensity that compelled Peter to his feet without the conscious decision to obey. “Close those peepers. That’s right, Daddy’s majestic spidery twinkling, be a good boy for me. Just stay exactly like that.”

While Peter breathed slowly, Wade nudged his chin up to latch an inches-thick, jingling collar around his neck. After a click, a line of leather dropped between his pecs, dangling almost to his groin. Another click, and a second line brushed down his back.

“I’m taking your cage. Just for now,” Wade added softly against the younger man’s ear, raising the small hairs on his neck and arms.

“Yes, Daddy.” The words echoed in his ears like they were underwater.

Once freed, a scarred hand ghosted along his shaft, sending a jolt up his spine.

“That’s my good boy.”

A slicked hand pumped along his desperate cock, and he fought the urge to hump into that delicious touch. A small, wretched whine filled the quiet bubble around them.

“Be still now.”

Peter concentrated solely on not moving as a strap closed around his entire package. Smaller bells this time, they tinkled brightly. With a snap, the line pulled taut between his throat and his junk. More straps ran front to back until the harness hugged him snuggly in four bands on both sides. Thick cuffs wrapped around his upper thighs, then his wrists. With a pair of simultaneous snaps, the cuffs were connected to prevents him from lifting his arms. Fingertips trailed lightly down the inside of both legs. Another pair of cuffs latched around his ankles. Bell after bell was snapped into place until each breath jingled merrily.

When nothing happened for several seconds, Peter asked, “May I open my eyes now, Daddy?”

“Umn?” He could imagine the way Wade shook his head to clear his mind of the lust that fogged his thoughts. “Oh yeah, baby boy, you want to see this.”

Peter glanced down his body. “A Spider-man harness?”

With a girlish squee, his deadly boyfriend replied, “I added the sleigh bells myself! Iddn’t it the greatest ever!” The big man urged him toward the covered mirror. “Go look! Go look!”

Intent on putting one foot in front of the other, Peter made half of a jingling step before his ankle jerked his progress to an awkward stop, setting the bells into a full cacophony. Of course his ankles were bound together; how could he think otherwise.

As he shuffled forward, Wade sang, “I have spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle, as I go riding merrily along.”

When Peter reached the mirror he glanced back. “Daddy, I can’t open the curtain.”

“Then use your teeth, baby boy.” Wade’s voice held a bright, expectant note, which reminded his lover that his massive body felt almost as good as looked today, which in turn meant Wade had zero intention of making anything easy for anybody.

After several failed attempts to catch the fabric between his teeth, Peter finally resorted to using the microscopic barbs on his cheek. He crab-walked to one side until he had enough reflective surface revealed to see his body in a single glance.

A humorously oversized bell hung from the red leather posture collar that kept his chin up. In the center of his chest, a leather medallion had one of his earliest spider designs, plus one large bell flanked by two smaller ones. _Festively helpless_, he decided.

After studying Wade’s handiwork, Peter noted his own flushed arousal. “Daddy, now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

Smirk wide, pleased with himself, Wade slapped his lover’s ass. Powerful arms crossed over the older man’s chest as he propped against the wall, a safe distance from the offending mirror. “Maybe I’ll let you go about your day just to watch you struggle.”

“Da-a-addy,” Peter whined, hating the way he choked on his need.

“How ’bout I break you down like a shotgun and—” Wade scooped his lover into his arms, toted him across the room, and bent him over the arm of the couch, a hand at the nape of his neck to hold him down “—fuck you like there’s no tomorrow?”

“Yes, Daddy, please.”

Cock poised and ready, Wade hissed, “Say it.”

“Please fuck me like there’s no tomorrow, Da—” Peter gasped as his body opened for his lover. Fingers snared his harness and forced him back until his thighs pressed snug into Wade’s. He threw back his head. “Oh, yes, nice and deep.”

“You like that? Like being filled up with Daddy’s fuckstick?” Wade snapped his hips, slamming into the smaller man hard enough that the couch skidded.

That reminder of Wade’s physical prowess left Peter enamored anew. Trembling, he struggled to rouse his mind enough to answer. “Yes, Daddy, I like being filled up with Daddy’s fuckstick.” Completely at Wade’s dubious mercy, he groaned as his unsated desires burned hot, scalding across his cheeks and down his chest. “Please, Daddy,” he breathed.

Just like that, Wade’s intent was gone. As if running on animal instinct alone, he took his pleasure from Peter’s body hard and fast. Within minutes he quaked against Peter’s back as he came.

Once the big man calmed, Peter couldn’t help himself. “Daddy, please,” he whispered, “wanna come so bad. Please, oh please, let me come, Daddy. I wanted to be such a good boy today so you might not ruin it this time, but then I—”

“Shush, baby boy.” Wade dropped his voice low as well. “Trust Daddy to take care of you.”

Peter whimpered and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I do. But… I need it so bad.”

“I know, sweet boy. I know.” Wade held him close, one hand patting gently between his shoulder blades. “Can you wait a few hours for me?”

“Bare—no.” That admission broke Peter into outright sobs. ”Please, Daddy, I really can’t. Not without being sullen and angry. Today’s been too intense.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Absolute truth, right, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Still sniffling softly he leaned back against Wade. “Thank you.”

“Just lay down on the couch and close your eyes for a minute, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy. Will you straighten the sheet for me first?”

“Okay.” Wade took a moment to smooth the sheet back into place, then helped Peter get comfy since his hands were still bound. “B-R-B, Daddy’s little dreamboat flutter bum.”

“Ew, Wade, no.”

“If Daddy says you’re his dreamboat flutter bum, then you’re his dreamboat flutter bum, baby boy.” Chuckling the bigger man walked to the bedroom and returned with something behind his back, a mile of extension cord trailing behind him ominously. “Open your mouth and close your eyes, and Daddy will give you a big surprise.”

Peter obeyed.

Two fingers slid along his lower lip, then into his mouth. He sighed, then sucked on them as they rubbed across his tongue. Limp and content, he gave no consideration to the soft material Wade slid over his cock. Not until the furious riot of vibrations started.

His eyes flashed open, and he glanced down at the wand that Wade set to shaking him apart.

“No, no, baby boy, eyes closed.” Using the fingers still in his mouth, Wade pushed his head back to the couch while his smaller lover groaned at the overwhelming sensation. “Mmm, Daddy likey.”

Too much vibration and not enough stroking, Peter hitched and fought as need waxed hot between his legs. He humped harder, trying to force his relief. When he did finally shoot his load over his stomach, the relief paled to what he knew Wade would have offered if he’d been more patient.

Wade turned off the wand and smirked down at him. “You have the cutest little frown.” He pulled his fingers from Peter’s mouth and used one to swipe up a bit of come, which he licked off with a sinful grin.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

His eyes rolled back into his head, his moan loud. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Amused, Peter gave a soft chuckle before putting on his most innocent expression. “No, Daddy, of course not. I love you.”

Lips still quirked with rapturous evil, Wade wrapped his fingers under the posture collar and pulled the smaller man up to sitting, then to his feet. With Peter’s back to his chest, he crooned, “Is this love that I'm feeling? Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love or am I dreaming? This must be love ’cause it's really got a hold on me.”

“Glad to see Yellow’s happy.”

“Listen, baby boy, now that you know what’s possible, have you been wantin’ to do it all, now, now, now?”

“Maybe a little.” Peter let the bigger man smear his own come over his stomach and chest. “Or a little more than a little. I never even thought of half the things we’ve done, and I can’t help wondering what more there is.”

“Sub frenzy. Not too bad but enough to notice.” Wade held him tighter, arms closing like a vice.

Even so, Peter couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Daddy, how do I get my collar?”

“You’re wearing a collar,” Wade teased.

“But it’s not _my_ collar.” Peter punctuated his statement by pressing his ass back against his lover, who was already growing hard again. “Or should that be your collar?”

“My boy’s collar,” Wade supplied. “And my boy gets his collar when I decide.”

Peter’s pout cut off abruptly when Wade pushed him to his knees.

Still behind him, Wade’s voice rumbled, “Peter, you are the first priority in my life. Do you accept my collar as a constant reminder that you are never far from my mind and always in my heart?”

After all of the buildup, the question still seemed to come from out of the blue, and Peter’s mind faltered as he caught up. Everything suddenly felt so serious, so real. Was this the future he wanted? “A thousand times, yes. I want us to always be this close, this crazy.”

“Your wish, baby boy.” The bigger man grunted behind him before laughing. “Gimme just a second here. Wasn’t expecting…” Something tiny hit the floor with a tink. “…the screw to be that small.”

Peter bit his lip to stifle his laughter as the heavy posture collar fell from his neck.

In a moment Wade draped the chain in its place. “This is my promise to you: I’m committed to what we have betw—right, the love betw—fine, dammit, we! Wee, wee, wee all the way home. Erm, no, we’re… something. We’re committed to the love we have between us. We promise to do everything we can to protect—well, no, of course he doesn’t need us to protect him; that’s not where—just shut up for a second here.”

He took a breath and started again: “We promise that we’re committed to our love and that we’ll do everything we can to protect our bond for as long as you’ll have us.” A moment later, he helped the younger man to his feet. He stripped the leather bounds from Peter’s body, leaving him with an unexpected sense of freedom and lightness.

Now able to stroke his hands over his lover’s head, Peter asked, “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

He raised a brow.

“Okay, okay, yeah, so I did me and you can do you, but I’d like something more of a claiming ceremony from Dom Pedro.”

“Don’t call me that.” The words had no heat. Peter’s mind churned a mile a minute. _Claim._ He wanted to put down stakes to announce to the world that Wade belonged to him, but what exactly should that entail?

“Don’t worry about it for now—I know how you like to research things—just whenever you’re ready.”

Peter nodded, his mind returning to the present. With one hand wrapped around the solid proof that Wade reciprocated his feelings, he gazed up in awed contentment. “Okay, Daddy.”

After a short Saturday evening patrol, they climbed through the window into their little rinky-dink apartment. Thank all that was good in the universe, Wade had insisted on soundproofing when he moved in. That way Peter didn’t have to keep his voice down as he insisted, “No, Wade, you didn’t have to cut that guy like that.”

“He hurt what’s mine.”

“We’ve been through this. You said you’d—” Peter cut himself off with a futile sigh. “I don’t want to fight, but damn, that was uncalled for.”

“Says you. Let me see your side.”

“Just a bruise,” but Peter flinched as Wade pressed along the darkened flesh over his ribs. “Are we gonna go through this again? You can’t keep me from getting roughed up a little.”

“Yeah, we are. How much longer do you intend to do this? Ten years? Twenty?”

“For as long as I want to.” He scowled. He’d give up Spider-man for his owner, but he didn’t have to like the idea.

Wade sighed as he pulled off his mask. “Peter, you’re mortal. And as much as I want to pretend that you’re always gonna be faster than the other guy, you won’t. And… Being alone again? It scares me, alright? Hell, being happy at all scares me.”

Peter knew that. They’d discussed this all before, and nothing new was coming from discussing it again. “Okay, note to self: nothing more dangerous than a scared Deadpool. Got it. …Um why are you handing me a little pink pill?”

“A little Asgardian amusement for today’s sex challenge.”

“Oh.” Peter eyed it twice as dubiously now. “And what does it do?”

“A fast-acting, temporary—and I do stress temporary—sex change; turns your outie into an innie for about an hour. Because I’ve been dying to pull a strand of pearls over your clit, and well, that’s kinda hard when you don’t have one.”

“That’s… That’s a lot to ask, Daddy.” Still Peter cupped his hands to accept the pill from his lover.

“I know you like being a boy, my little oodle of spider caboodle. That’s why I asked a dozen different ways if the change could, under any circumstances, last longer or cause side effects. I wouldn’t hand it to you if I thought there was a one-in-a-million chance of anything going wrong. No one’s twisting your arm. You wanna do the challenge, fine; if not, that’s fine too. But White says to remind you that this is a porn without plot fluff piece, so there’s like zero chance of the author letting it turn angsty.”

Ignoring that last bit Peter nodded as he considered. On the one hand, hell to the yasss, he wanted to try it, if only to satisfy his fast-mounting curiosity; on the other, he’d seen what happens to humans stuck in the wrong gender, and it wasn’t pretty. Oh, who was he kidding? Science was nothing more than curiosity run amuck, and he’d been a slave to his own ravenous thirst for knowledge his entire life. That wasn’t going to change tonight.

He took off his mask and swallowed the pill. Might as well let it do its trick while he undressed.

The effect was instantaneous. All his bits and bobs pulled into his body cavity, and his cage fell loose in his pants. Two rounded mounds of fat covered his pecs. At least his spandex could handle the strain. He didn’t want to think of the outcome if he’d been in the Iron Spider suit. He peeled away the top, stopping to stare at the small, pert breasts on his chest. If the top was this disturbing, he dreaded to look between his legs and see a distinct lack of cock and balls.

“Keep going.” Wade’s husky command said he’d imagined this a thousand times already.

Peter closed his eyes as he pulled off his pants. After handing his cage to his beloved, he put his suit in the laundry pile, grateful this once for the dearth of mirrors in their place.

“Lay down.”

“Lie,” Peter corrected as he climbed onto the bed, with nothing dangling from his crotch. He flopped onto his back and tucked his eyes safely into the crook of his elbow so he at least wouldn’t see the strange lack of his familiar anatomy.

“Oh, it’s definitely true.” Wade crawled up beside him, stroking from stomach to thigh before cupping his boy’s dickless mound.

Those wide fingers probed into the slit along Peter’s taint, and for a moment he expected the pain of the flesh ripping. Instead the folds opened, allowing his owner to pet lightly inside that uncanny valley. The first brush of those marred fingertips to the sensitive bud brought an intense shiver, somewhere between pleasant and too much.

“Ooh, a responsive one.” The big man’s chortle had that honey thick choke of desire. “Show me, baby boy. Touch yourself and show me what feels good.”

Curious now, he cupped his breasts. Nothing too strange, though the nipples, his nipples he supposed, drew up into much larger nubs. A tentative squeeze and they reacted no different. The same couldn’t be said when that sensation traveled south. The constant ache he’d grown accustomed to ignoring now burst to life inside his body. Like, way inside…

He glanced down for the first time. “Oh, wow, that’s weird: no junior and friends.”

His hands brushed down his torso. So far so good. Pubes, no problem… except they kept going, a seam opening under his fingertips. One deft finger delved between the thick folds, only to find finer folds. He worked his finger inside, only to learn that the ache resided elsewhere. When he finally found the clit, his clit he realized, among the myriad petals of his new anatomy, he almost bolted out of his skin.

“Too much, too much, too much. Wa-a-ay too much.” Peter glared down his body. “What the hell? No wonder women are constantly frustrated with us.”

Wade chuckled at him—certainly not _with him_ since Peter wasn’t at all amused. “Here, let me try, baby boy.” He kissed down the younger man’s neck. “Or should I say baby girl?”

“Please don’t.” Peter huffed. “Just don’t.”

“Aw, my little grumpy wumpy kins.” Wade flicked the cover protecting the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Mngh, again.” Peter opened his legs and arched his back in hopes his lover could reach everything better. His efforts were rewarded with another bolt of pleasure that sizzled out from the center of his being. He melted into the electric, pulsing sensation as his lover toyed with his body.

Smirking down, a dare in his eyes, Wade pulled back his touch, allowing his palm to settle over the closed mound.

“Daddy, please?” If Peter whimpered a little extra in hopes that Wade would relent, that was between him and his conscience, which was currently drowned out by the all-consuming sexual buzz humming through his strange new body.

“Unh-uh, baby boy. Bring yourself to the edge while Daddy cleans his pearls.”

Fingers dexterous and thin, he had no trouble finding a pleasant stroke now that he knew better than to touch the clit itself. Instead he strummed beside it, and the buzz returned. Heat rose at the edges of his face, and he forced his hand away only to return moments later. As he reached that crest for the fourth time, he pulled back before a rolling pulse radiated from his core. Whimpering he pressed his palm over the angry bundle, trying to soothe the pervasive ache.

“Daddy! I swear I didn’t come.” Yet the waves kept rippling through him, pulse after pulse.

“’S okay, baby boy. Those things have a mind of their own, and it’s hard to control what you get and when.” The giant asshole had the gall to grin down at him, placing a damp spool of line studded with pearl beads on his chest. “So many possibilities. Could squirt all over the place. Maybe you’ll just shake apart.” Eyes glazed, a wishful, greedy expression washed over those ravaged features, his expectation akin to a kid at a candy store. “If we do it just perfect, you could have bodyquakes like that for half an hour after you get off.”

As the sensation trailed away, Peter had to wonder if a half hour of those ripples were a good thing; it’d felt amazing but, argh, it’d been sorta painful. The quakes had left his body spent and nonresponsive, but his mind still keened, horny for something else entirely; much akin to his usual ruined orgasms, he decided, except intensified by being something different entirely. _New, fresh nerves, never touched before._

Wade hooked a finger over his lover’s pelvic bone. “So wet for me.

When he pressed inside with a milking motion along the upper wall, Peter was gone. He could do nothing but moan and shake as Wade tucked one bead after the next inside him until the spool lay empty.

“Look’t you, all flushed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my boy likes being a girl.” He laughed as he aligned the first pearl.

That hard press brought Peter to such a shaking, whining mess that he wanted to hide, but Wade would never allow that. After adjusting his lover’s face just so, he tugged the line, watching as each pearl sent a fresh jolt through the younger man.

Then he pulled.

Body taut, eyes crushed closed, Peter arched up, wailing at the sensation that overrode his senses and left him powerless against the onslaught. His muscles pulsed and tightened with a warped, addictive pain that he wouldn’t escape even if he could. Moments later, a torrent of thin liquid sprayed from his unfamiliar body as he thrashed. With it came a release, a euphoric wave that turned all his muscles to jelly and his mind to a blank, calm sea.

Wade chuckled softly in his ear. “The first time’s always the best. Don’t even try to chase it, baby boy; you’ll wind up getting flustered.”

“First time…?” Peter mumbled, the words slurring.

“Whenever I lose Private Johnson, the first time my new cock shoots off, it’s all fireworks and dramatic theme songs.”

He managed a fair facsimile of a snicker.

“Course, the same’s true for the first time I stub my toe.”

“Each cut is like the first cut?” Aware now of the true horror of the bigger man’s regeneration, he frowned. “How can you stand it?”

“Life is pain, sweetheart. I thought you knew that by now.” Wade smoothed his brow with a thumb. “But it’s also pleasure and joy and watching you fall apart a dozen different ways.” He sucked a mark onto Peter’s collar bone. “Will it be okay if I fuck you like this, baby boy? I want to feel those hard musckles clench around me.”

“Musckles, huh?” Mind light and body heavy, Peter barely managed to lift an arm in his effort to tug his lover atop him. “Well it wouldn’t be scientifically valid if we omitted the most common reactions in our research, now would it?”

“Mmm, can’t have that.” Wade waited, poised and ready.

Peter gained a fair grip on the bigger man’s hips and pulled weakly. He panted as, inch by scandalous inch, his lover forced his thick length into that foreign opening. “You’re huge.”

“And you’re tiny. I can feel your plug through your walls.” The big man barked a laugh. “You doin’ okay down there.”

He answered by rolling his hips, taking his lover’s cock deeper with a satisfied groan. Big hands encircled his waist, lifted him up and pulled down his owner’s shaft. Then Wade was fucking him, hard and deep. His body arched off the bed, muscles rigid. Each thrust wrung a moan from his lips. Just as he relaxed into the feel of having his… cunt? fucked, his boyfriend sank to the hilt and jerked.

With a punch to the big man’s shoulder Peter grumbled, “And I was just getting into it.”

“Sorry, baby boy, happens that way sometimes.” Unconcerned Wade grinned as he pulled back. “So what about the fap roulette? Wanna try that as a girl?”

Peter rolled his eyes; he’d hoped to never have to face the fap roulette again, but he should have known better. “Ugh, fine, but I hope you know I absolutely despise that game.”

Wearing an indulgent grin, Wade bargained, “Do this fap roulette one last time, and Daddy’ll make a new one for you.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Only able to hope his kiss could convey his pure gratitude, Peter crushed their lips together. Mouth open, he allowed his owner to permeate every recess of his being.

Still kissing, Wade carried him to the table where the big man sat making out with Peter until they both broke off panting. “So same deal, just roll the dice and see what you get.” He handed over one die at the time. “Two minutes, like you’ll be able to stop. Supine. In the bed. See, nice and cozy.” As he spoke he kneaded Peter’s nipples, keeping them firmly pebbled. “Ooh, rope harness, score; that’s so going between your lips, baby boy. Hundred twenty beats per minute. …Well a condom isn’t gonna work as a girl, so roll again. …Hmm, no cbt, but I think I have a weight with a removal cord.”

Last one. The ten-sided die Peter loathed with his entire being. He tossed onto the gameboard. “Ten again?” He glared at his lover.

Wade raised both hands. “Maybe it’s a wonky casino die or something? I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Fine, I’ll take it—again—but this die is now officially mine to destroy as I see fit.”

“Whatever you say, baby boy.” He seemed far too amused.

Peter let that slide as he crushed the offending die into warped bits of plastic.

True to his word, Wade used the rope harness to expose Peter’s core before laying him on the bed. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetie Petey, just flick that bean and I’ll start the timer. Not that you’ll need it. Doubt you’ll be to the first edging in two minutes. Now open your legs so Daddy can tuck the weight inside.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter let his knees fall to the mattress.

Once Wade slid the weight into place, he tapped at Peter’s clit. “I love the way that makes you jerk and squeak.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter couldn’t think of anything better to say.

The first brush of his fingertips brought a keening plea that didn’t abate until he built up to his first edge. Anxious to prevent a repeat, he allowed a longer cool off. The harness kept up a delicious friction that he continued to rock into as he waited. The second edge left him throbbing. By the third he was a mess of conflicting desires, the strongest to chase this high to its peak. He waited twice as long before he chased the fourth. The next three went fine as well, though the throb ran from bellybutton to midthigh and from hip to hip.

He circled the sensitive nub slowly before starting edge number eight. Wary he stroked alongside his clit, immediately on the verge of orgasm. He jerked his hand back, and for a heartbeat he thought he’d succeeded.

Quakes pulsed through him, leaving him helpless as the sensation steamrolled him under. Minutes passed as he jerked in time to the convulsions. “Da-a-addy?”

“Shh, baby boy. You’re okay. Everything’s fine.”

“But it _aches_,” Peter whined.

Wade smoothed his hair from his brow. “I know, baby. I know. It’ll stop soon, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Nonetheless the smaller man clung tightly as the convulsions worked him over until he felt like he’d gone a dozen rounds with Rhino. When he finally lay spent, he blinked up at his owner. “So good. How can anything that overwhelming feel so crazy good?”

“Dunno, sweet boy.” Wade ran a finger through the younger man’s slit before bringing it to his lips for a taste. “Gonna let Daddy eat you up?”

Peter found his sense of humor again. “I don’t think I’d survive it.”

“You look bushed.”

He only nodded.

“Then ass up over Daddy’s knee. Time to spank you soundly and put you to bed.”

“Seriously?” He gaped at his owner, even as he placed his body into position.

Wade’s lower lip poked out in a childish pout. “You’ve gone a whole day without crying for me.”

_I have so cried. _“Daddy, will you remind your good boy to be mindful, obedient, honest, and respectful?” The younger man’s voice wavered with a note of fear, aware that the big man would dish out the pain relentlessly at this point.

“I’ll never say no to that, baby boy.”

Peter gripped the chain at his throat, a now-constant reminder that Wade’d claimed him. What started as heat built to fire, but he allowed it to climb, allowed the inferno to force his tears to fall, allowed his owner to take sadistic pleasure in his pain.

Once every single ounce of sensation had been wrung from his body, Wade locked his boy’s cock away, safe from any stimulation. With gentle care, he tucked his boy into bed, kissed his forehead, and stretched out beside him. “Such a good boy for me today. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Daddy. Thanks for spending your low-pain day with me.”

“You’re always welcome, baby boy. Always.”


	22. Day 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primal Play with Yellow!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you see, I wanted to get this posted before I had to pull off to get some work completed between now and the first.
> 
> Don't expect more soon, but it's coming. I've got the rest roughly mapped out.
> 
> ETA: Fixed the JARVIS/FRIDAY issue.

Sitting in the main kitchen of the Baxter Building, Peter pushed a bite of chicken through the dressing on his Farro salad to avoid Johnny Storm’s inquisitive gaze. As if that were going to work.

“So spill the tea, Parker: why’d you call outta the blue for lunch?”

“Can’t I just want to have lunch with a friend?” Like that didn’t sound defensive.

Blond brow raised Johnny studied him even harder. “Yeah, that’s not an answer.”

“Because Wade and I have spent the last three weeks up each other’s ass, and it’s time to admit there’s a world out here.”

Thankfully Johnny settled back into his chair. “True enough, there is an entire world, right outside your colons. I’d buy that except you’ve been rectally located for, like, a year now.”

Peter snickered and met his friend’s gaze on accident. His face heated as he tried so hard not to think about all the things he’d said about the guy.

“And that! That right there!” Johnny pointed to his flushed cheeks. “What the hell is up with that? Because, gotta say, I’m not exactly certain I want Deadpool’s boyfriend giving me the eyes when he ain’t here to gimme the thumbs up.”

“Ugh, I can explain… Kinda… But I’d rather not.” Maybe if he buried his fiery blush in his hands, the other man wouldn’t notice.

Elbows on the table, Johnny leaned closer. “Oh, man, now I gotta know. Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

“I, um, kinda lied.” Peter gave an innocent blink.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “What else is new?” Then he had the cheek to roll them again.

“While Wade was on a mission. About taking care of myself. And when he found out, he was pissed.”

The blond pointed a fry at his lunch companion. “Don’t envy you that. A pissed off Deadpool is a dangerous Deadpool.”

Peter smirked. “Nowhere near as dangerous as a scared Deadpool apparently.”

“Unh-uh. No changing the subject: What does a pissed off Deadpool have to do with you making goo-goo eyes at me—oh, hell no, I’m not letting you cheat on Wade with me!”

“No, not that!” Peter raised both hands. “Just lemme explain. So he got mad that I didn’t trust him with the truth, and after some discussion, we decided… um… we-decided-on-a-sexy-bootcamp-punishment.”

“What was that? I didn’t catch that last bit.” Why did Peter spend so much time with people who smirked like that?

Oh, right, he was a smirker himself. “We… We decided he can put me through a month-long bootcamp punishment, totally dom the hell outta me.”

“And what’s that gotta do with me?” Johnny’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched Peter flounder for words.

“Okay, so I told you about the boxes?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he’s been letting them… I guess… giving them more freedom so they torture him a lot less, and—”

“Still not seeing where I come into the picture here, Parker.”

“Getting there.” Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. This was just Johnny; he could explain himself to the other man without spontaneously combusting. “White challenged me to fantasize about Stark, and when I refused—because, hello, my boss—I got to choose who to fantasize about, and… well… you were the only one I could think of that I could vaguely get it up… Quit laughing!”

“’M flattered. Really.” He chewed, his impersonation of someone thoughtful, spot-on. “So is this another challenge? Am I now just a toy in your twisted sex games?—not that I mind.”

“Um, not exactly? White says we’ve become codependent. Apparently Wade’s solution to that is to force me to spend quality time with someone other than him, even if he had to kidnap you to make it happen, so really I’m here to prevent my boyfriend from getting burned to a crisp.”

“Hmph, my hero.” Johnny kicked back in his chair. “I know better. You just don’t want us in the same room at the same time after that little fantasy scenario.”

“Yeah, that too. He’s enjoying—”

Johnny let out a godawful, high-pitched shriek. “You’re collared! I thought that was an odd choice of necklace. He’s collared you! Did you collar him? Are you gonna exchange vows? Exchange rings?” He slapped both palms on the tabletop. “You are the worst. What part of _tell me everything_ do you not understand?”

“All of it. I’m a very private spider,” Peter replied.

Johnny fingered his collar and studied the lock. “Hardly. Dish, Spider-boy.”

Encouraged by the way his worries lifted as he spoke, Peter unloaded everything: bootcamp, spanked to tears, the hardware, the constant escalation; role-play with Yellow, White’s secret; how Stark pieced together his identity, the Iron Spider suit he’s reluctant to wear, Banner being the best lab partner ever; book club, the rapidly seeping public knowledge that Spidey was uber-kinky, the slowly seeping public knowledge that Peter Parker was dating Deadpool. “So eventually I’m either gonna hafta come out as Spider-man or lie about being in a threesome with myself.”

“Only you, Spidey.” Using the collar Johnny tugged Peter closer to ask, “So when should I show up for our threesome?”

Peter nearly choked on his Sprite. “We’re not having a threesome; you think Wade’s obnoxious.”

“He talks a mile a minute and never shuts up, but he doesn’t smell like death warmed over anymore, and you _have_ seen your man’s muscles. So hot.”

“I know, right? It’s like, can you guys not see what a hottie this man really is? Are you asshats blind or what?”

“Ever considered they’re just straight?”

Peter barked out a laugh. “Not really. I thought straight guys could still tell when another guy was hot.”

“Oh, they can; it just doesn’t mean anything to them.”

Face down on the table, Peter’s phone sang out, “Speak to me kindly. I'm the type of girl you call wifey.” He didn’t have to see the display to know Wade put in that ringtone, so he silenced it.

“You gonna get that?” Johnny asked.

“Mind if I send a quick text to Wade?”

“Go ahead and sext your boo.”

“And you wonder why I want to keep you two apart at all costs.” _Still w JnnyStmnbvcxz_

Johnny wrestled the phone from his hands. _And Pete wants you so bad it’s insanertyuiop_

Peter snatched it back. _Ignore that. Johnny thinks he’s funny._

“That’s because I am funny, but…” _Johnny thinks Pete should be sexting you up._

“Stop that! Don’t give Wade ideas!”

“Too late now.” Johnny inclined his head toward the phone.

_Like the way Johnny thinks. Whachu wearin bb?_

Peter groaned. _The same outfit you sent me out the door in._

_Then lie to me bb_

_L8r._ Peter sat the phone back on the table. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.”

“Oh, ee-mensely.”

With a dark glare, Peter crossed his arms.

Johnny elbowed him in the ribs. “Nah, don’t buy it; if you can put up with Wade, then you definitely still love me.”

“But do you have to encourage him?” Peter whined.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Face it, Pete, you adore that man because of his impulsive idiocy, not in spite of it.”

He clutched his skull in both hands. “I know. I’m doomed.”

“Yup.”

Just inside the door of their apartment, Peter stripped, starting with his shirt and working his way down.

“So how was Cap’s younger twin?”

“White?” Peter paused with one foot still in his jeans.

“The one and only. In this universe anyway.”

“Where’s Yellow?” Peter again found himself glancing about for a box, his own sanity coming into question. “I expected him to be eager for his game.”

“Yeah, about that. He’s sulking. Wade’s trying to talk some sense into him, total waste of time, but now that you’re back, will you please tell him you have no interest in dumping us for the Human Torch?”

Peter shook his other leg free and kicked his pants toward the laundry. He took a seat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. Once White sat, he massaged across his lover’s scalp and spoke softly. “Hey, my sweet yellow box, I had lunch with Johnny and came right back, just like I promised.”

“Keep going. You have his attention,” White whispered.

“I really want to know what game you’ve thought up. I’m sorry for vetoing Hellraiser, but I can’t let you rip holes in me like that. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doesn’t mean I won’t come home. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep you. Just means I’m looking out for your boy. You understand that, right?”

“I mean, kinda.” Yellow blinked out, suspicious of Peter. “But he’s so much prettier. I just wanna run my hands through his hair while I watch him sleep.”

“Not at all creepy. Sounds like I’m not the one we have to worry about running off with Johnny Storm.”

Indignant, Yellow squawked, “Why, I would never! Never, Petey!”

“Teasing. Just teasing. I know you’d never.” Peter cuddled into the big body of his lover. “Feeling better now that I’m home?”

“Yeah.” The box buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck.

“So… Let’s hear it: what’s the role-play de jour?”

Yellow fumbled a moment in the couch cushions before singing, “Hey there, Lil’ Yella Riding Hood. You sure are looking good. You’re everything that a big bad wolf could want. Ah-woo.” He pulled on a shaggy gray wolf mask. “Run for your life, boy.”

One hand up, Peter glanced at their cramped one-bedroom apartment, scrambling to think of a larger space, free of innocent bystanders. Most of the floors in the tower would be empty on a Sunday, and so long as they didn’t disturb any of the experiments, Stark wouldn’t mind one little game of tag to keep Yellow happy. At worst, they’d get thrown out for the day, then he’d get a lecture of some sort come Monday. Peter was willing to take that chance. Particularly if he could exhaust Yellow without wearing himself thin. One thirty-second lead and he could disappear into the ductwork. Without help from White or Wade, Yellow would need a long time to figure out how Peter was appearing and disappearing.

Peter snickered at the idea. “Yeah, this would be way more fun in the tower. Whadda ya say?”

Child that he was, Yellow clapped merrily. “That sounds fun. Let’s go terrorize the Avengers!”

“No, Yellow, you can chase me through the tower, and if you catch me, you can take my back to your recovery room and have me however you want.”

“Ooh, indulge my primal kink, me likey. Let’s go, Petey.” He climbed onto Peter’s back without waiting for him to suit up.

After several minutes of box wrangling, Spidey slung them through the city. The whole way Yellow giggled in his ear, adding a yelp at the apex of each swing.

The instant FRIDAY let them in through a tenth-floor window, Yellow slid to his feet as he settled the wolf mask over his Deadpool one. “Time to run.” He dropped to all fours and howled.

_So much for a head start…_ Peter leapt to the ceiling and scurried forward at full speed. Behind him Yellow uncoiled, his arms reaching for his lover while his legs hurled him into range. His fingers brushed Spidey’s leg, even that slight contact enough to give him an unexpected boner.

The chase was on.

Peter sprinted down the hallway, skidded through a turn, and dashed onward. Deafened by adrenaline, he felt certain he had a decent lead and chanced a glance back. Yellow snagged at his heel. Human anatomy didn’t run on all fours like that, but Peter didn’t have time to consider what Yellow might have done to his body and how he kept it from healing.

Mistakes were made. Operation: Exhaust Yellow definitely took a wrong turn somewhere, but Clint’s opening to the ductwork was straight ahead. Peter made one clean leap and he was in. Except, judging by the almighty ruckus behind him, so was Yellow. Barely able to keep his feet from the box’s grip, Peter plunged ahead, quickly losing his bearings. At least Peter’s size became an advantage in the close confines.

While his spidey sense remained calm as he fled, Peter still reassured himself with the fact that the mercurial box wasn’t singing death threats while brandishing his katanas. No matter how zealous the pursuit, they were both still playing the game.

One Yellow was determined to win.

As the air grew more volatile, Peter knew he was nearing the central shaft, but he didn’t expect the passage floor to disappear under his hands, leaving him to tumble out head first and frozen by surprise. Reoriented, he kicked off the wall and shot upward, certain Deadpool couldn’t navigate the vertical shaft in twice the time.

Finally Peter had a heartbeat to think. He didn’t want to chance the lab floors, so where would be abandoned on a Sunday aftern—oop, time was up. Yellow scurried after him in an ass-on-fire blur of animalistic speed. Peter selected a passage at random and searched for an exit, any exit, while the ductwork warbled under Yellow’s weight. It was one thing to play tag in the tower, another for his lover to vibrate the ducts apart while Peter tried to escape the inevitable.

Open grate, straight ahead, Peter poured on extra speed in hopes of clearing out before anyone noticed the commotion in the ventilation. He reached the opening and leapt—

—straight into the metal chest of Stark’s current Iron Man suit. Damn.

A moment later, two-hundred-plus pounds of muscle slammed into his back and tackled him, so they tumbled ass over elbow across the floor. “Gotcha, Petey.”

“Yes, you did, Yellow, but we have company.”

The box made a questioning grunt as he pulled off his wolf mask and glanced up. “Oh. Hiya, tin can.”

Peter hoped a friendly smile would help his cause. “So you’re prob’ly wondering why there’s a ruckus in your vent work.”

“Actually, no, all my questions on that account are answered.” Stark raised his face plate. “You sounded like a herd of elephants in there.”

“Just a primal game of tag,” Yellow mumbled with a sour pout and a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“C’mon, Yellow; you caught me. The game was over anyway. Now let’s go home.” _Please play along. Please play along. Please—_

“Yay! I get Petey however I want him, and I’m thinkin—”

Mortified Peter clamped his hand over Yellow’s mouth, twining around him tight enough to incapacitate the big lunk. “So we’ll just be heading home now. Right, Deadpool?”

Yellow nodded fiercely even as he tried to talk.

With a huff, Stark dismissed his suit. “Both of you.” He pointed to each, then crooked his finger. “Come with me.”

“Not a word.” Peter released the box and followed along meekly, hoping obedience would garner leniency.

“But Petey, that’s Iron Man himself, and Wadey never lets me—”

In full Dom mode, Peter growled, “Yellow. Silence.”

“Damn, I thought spiders were quiet,” Stark muttered. He opened the door to an empty meeting room and stood to one side, prepared usher them in.

Instead Peter flashed a warning glare at Yellow. “Stay here while I talk to Mr. Stark. Don’t go anywhere and don’t touch anything. Got it?”

The box gave a properly sheepish nod. “Yes, Petey.”

“Say it.”

“I won’t go anywhere and I won’t touch anything.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back for you.”

Yellow sulked, but he nodded as he crossed his arms. “Fine.”

Once the door shut behind him, Peter pressed his finger to his lips while motioning Stark deeper into the room. “I’m so sorry but this is important. That’s Wade’s Yellow box. He’s a bit… volatile.”

“Dangerous, got it.” Stark at least kept his voice down.

“Not… Okay, yes, dangerous. But he’s no problem. So long as he’s not bored… or sad… or angry… or afraid. But he’s already had a disappointment today. And I truly thought he’d stay in the empty hallways. Instead he followed me into the ducts.”

“All for a game of tag.” His boss gawked at him. “You two are literally unbelievable.”

Peter huffed. Before he could stifle his snark, he replied “I mean… you can’t argue results; Deadpool’s kill rate is way down.” He raised a finger. “But I do see your point.”

“So why are we whispering?”

“Yellow’s… special. Like I said, volatile. But emotional. Delicate.”

“Like nitroglycerine.” Stark did not look pleased.

Peter gritted his teeth as he admitted. “Yeah, if it were a kindergartener. With a full arsenal and severe antegrade amnesia. His tantrums are the stuff of legends.”

“I still want to talk to you both.”

“Okay, but please don’t get mad if he forgets what you’ve just said; he can’t help that. And if anyone needs to be yelled at, yell at me come Monday since this was my dumbass idea—or at very least, let me get Wade back in the driver’s seat. Please, please, please don’t raise your voice around Yellow because I can’t guarantee I can calm him down before he does… something…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word _horrible_, but Stark replied with a knowing nod.

Peter walked back to the door and opened it to find Yellow as still as a statue in the hallway. “C’mon; it’s okay.” He reached out to the box.

“You’re not mad, Petey?”

“No, Yellow, I’m not mad; I’m really proud of you because I know how hard it is for you to be quiet and still.”

“Is tin can mad?” He placed a timid hand in Peter’s.

“He might be a little bit, but it’s okay.”

In full trust Yellow allowed Peter to walk him into the room. The box gave Stark a once over. “So this is the guy inside the can?”

“Yup. Mr. Stark, Yellow. Yellow, Mr. Stark.”

“Ugh, call me Tony. So now that introductions have been made.” Stark crossed his arms. “You two can’t use the tower as your personal playground. Lunch breaks behind locked doors are one thing. But whatever foolishness you think up, save it for private quarters. And to that end, I’m offering Deadpool and Spider-man a full suite if I can get a promise from both of you that you’ll never go tearing through my ducts like banshees again.”

Yellow turned to Peter. “I like him. So why does Whitey always say he’s got a stick up his ass?”

Resisting the urge to face palm, he answered gently, “Because Mr. Stark has rules that he expects all of us to follow.”

“Oh.” Yellow blinked as he processed the idea. “So he told Whitey what to do, and Whitey didn’t like it.”

“That sounds like White,” Peter replied with a nod.

Yellow turned wide-eyed to Stark. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch? If bribery doesn’t work, I’m banning you from the tower.”

“Whitey’s right. You do have a stick up your ass.”

“’S not nice, Yellow.” Peter shook off his embarrassment. He had to stay calm so that Yellow stayed calm. “Mr. Stark, er, Tony lets me do science stuff here. That’s important to me, which makes Tony important to me. He’s my boss. I expect you to be nice to him.”

“Fine. Yes, Tony, I’ll be a boring box when I’m in your halls.” The box turned back to him. “Happy now?”

“Try it without the tude?” Peter asked.

Yellow made a strangled noise as if the very idea pained him. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior when I’m in your tower. And thank you for letting Petey science stuff, ’cause it makes him happy.” He offered his hand like a little boy just learning the formalities of manhood.

Stark shook it.

“Thank you, Yellow.” Peter squeezed his other hand.

In return, the box beamed at him with pure, radiant joy.

“Tony is like my crazy teacher who wears dark glasses. Can you try to remember that?”

“Fifty thou a year buys a lot of beer.” Yellow trailed off into humming Timbuk 3’s Future’s So Bright.

“Everyone in the tower is important to me and for a lot of them this is their home; can you remember that all I'm askin' is for a little respect when they get home?”

Yellow sang out, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Take care, T-C-B,” then bopped along silently to the music in his head.

Peter finally shifted his attention back to his boss. “Yeah, um, sorry for being disruptive. Best laid plans and all that. Intended to be in and out without bothering anyone.”

Stark asked, “Deadpool, um, Yellow, can I have another moment with Peter?”

“Sure.” He made no move to leave, still caught up in music only he heard.

“Alone?”

“Oh.” Yellow’s brow scrunched as he looked to Peter, who nodded. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll be a boring box in the hall again.”

Peter grinned his approval. “Thanks, Yellow; I’ll be right out.”

Once they were alone, Stark whispered, “What’s up with the oldies?”

“Helps him remember stuff.”

“That’s actually pretty impressive.” His brow furrowed with worry. “I’ve seen Deadpool like this before, and the whole operation went to hell quick.”

“Yellow’s just a big kid. Easy to handle.”

“Easy to handle, he says. Deadpool never stopped jabbering nightmare fuel as he skipped through that Hydra base and dismembered every agent except the one he called Bob. On a recon job.”

“Yeah, one emotional upset and Yellow forgets everything beyond his bloodlust.”

“So long as you see he’s dangerous.”

“I never forget that.” Peter narrowed his eyes, practically daring the man to say more.

“Good. You know he’s a backstabber too.”

_Fucking asshole._ Peter scowled but refused to rise to the bait. “That would be White.”

“Wrong imaginary friend?”

“Wrong dissociated personality.” To prove that he knew what he was doing, he added, “Or at least Yellow is. White’s more likely some kind of disembodied psyche who hated Wade before they wound up sharing a head.”

“Right.” With a bobbing nod and a bemused quirk of the lip, Stark shifted forward. “Deadpool’s working with a leaky sieve. You, on the other hand? You have a steel trap between your ears. So how’d this sound like a good idea?”

“I just wanted to tire Yellow out a little.” Peter winced at how stupid that sounded now.

Stark paused as tumblers in his brain clicked into place; Peter could only hope he concluded that Peter understood Deadpool and handled his boyfriend’s circumstances deftly. “That makes a surprising amount of sense.” He still sighed with the weight of the world. “All you had to do was ask. We have a Hulk-proof obstacle course in the basement and a Cap-proof gym on the tenth floor. Which you ran past when you arrived.”

“Sorry. Um, I hadn’t expected to get caught—at least not like that. But, yeah, I’ll do better at staying inconspicuous.”

“Um-hmm. Sure. You are absolutely the worst at staying under the radar. Deadpool doesn’t count because he doesn’t even try.” Despite a shake of his head his expression turned fond. Or was that amused? Eh, Peter would take either. “Head downstairs. Tire him out. Keep him outta my ducts.”

Appeased, frankly relieved that he didn’t have to avenge his boyfriend’s honor against Tony freakin’ Stark, Peter gave a boy scout’s salute. “You got it, boss.”

As he reached for the doorknob, Stark added, “He’s become tolerable.”

“Um, thanks?” Peter slipped from his boss’s office with considerable relief.

After a mad scramble through the obstacle course, Peter and Yellow followed FRIDAY’s prompts to their suite. “Swanky.” Peter whistled softly, his feet sinking into the carpet. “Just the living room is bigger than our apartment.”

“Meh, Wadey owns nicer.” Still sulking over getting in trouble with Stark, Yellow dropped onto the couch, bouncing twice. “Hey, my PlayStation! I never figured I’d see it alive again!”

“So where were we in the saga of Little Yellow Riding Hood?”

On his feet in a blink Yellow prowled toward his love. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your mind, boy.”

“Isn’t that a different Big Bad?”

“Nah, it’s all me.” The box rushed Peter, scooped him into his arms, and peppered his face with hard kisses. “I’m the wolf in the woods, the monster under the bed, the nightmare fuel that keeps—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Peter struggled free as he signaled for a time out. “What the hell? You could hear us?”

“Whitey was spying. Me? Don’t want me to hear? Fine. I don’t give a shit.” Yellow ran his thumb over a glistening canine. “So long as I get to eat you alive at the end of the week, I’m satisfied. I don’t give a damn about much else.”

Peter swallowed his anxiety. “So, um, how often does White spy on me?”

“Since you found out he’s not original gangst—bite my ass; I’ll tell him what I want… Go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.” Yellow scowled at the nothingness overhead. “Hmph, afeared of Wadey? Sounds like a personal problem… Ya know what? Fine. Box solidarity. But if you fuck this up, I’ll show you living hell, horrors you can’t even imagine. You’ll be praying to dance the Spandau ballet.”

With that disturbing promise Yellow sank his teeth into the muscle atop Peter’s shoulder as if the box fully intended to devour the flesh from his bones. A blink later and he snarled, a vicious and victorious predator, before latching a single hand at the younger man’s jaw. Nostrils flaring he flung Peter to the couch.

“Strip.”

That command, such a cold, ruthless word, left Peter breathless in his arousal. Compelled, he fumbled free of his clothing. Though only mildly riled, the temperamental box had him on high alert for even the slightest twinge from his spidey sense. Yet, dearest goddess of fairytales and savage joys, he savored the anticipation of a brutal lay.

Making a low-key, thrumming excuse for a purr, he slid from the couch to crawl toward Yellow.

The box bared his straight, pearly teeth in a manic grin as Peter untied the bigger man’s sweats. “Perfection, boy, you’re absolute perfection.”

“Thank you, Yellow.” Peter yanked the pants and briefs down those thick legs, freeing his lover’s cock in one rushed motion. He sat on his feet and blinked up. “May I?”

Yellow reached down to run his fingertips over the links of the younger man’s collar. “How’s it, bein’ nothin’ but a sick fuck’s chew toy?”

“It’s…?” The unexpected and vulgar query caught Peter flatfooted with no reply. “Not exactly comfortable… More belonging?” Had he vowed to tell Yellow the absolute truth when he made his pledge to Wade? “Owned. Right. Safe. Loved.”

Yellow’s awed but cruel smile lodged Peter’s heart in his throat.

He repeated the question in his mind. “Thrilling. Like a roller coaster, like I’m careening through a corkscrew at a hundred miles an hour, headed straight for the ground, but I trust you not to leave me in a smear on the pavement.”

“Now that would be a waste of a perfectly good cocksucker.” He cupped the back of Peter’s head. “Open wide.” His tongue peeked between his teeth, barely lapping at his upper lip as his lover obeyed. “Little spoider, little spoider, let me in.”

Yellow’s invasion came fast, violent, and ruthless. Peter choked and drooled, coughed and sputtered, as he fought for each breath. Unable to pineapple, not certain he would if he could, he sank his hands into those meaty thighs, what must have been an agonizing grip.

Low and shameless, the box groaned. “Fuck yeah, boy, hurt me.”

Shoulder in Yellow’s gut, Peter surged up and lunged for the wall, knocking the breath from the box, hopefully without cracking any ribs.

Not that Yellow would care. Lust-blown pupils rolled back in their sockets; lascivious grin rounded into an open-mouthed gasp. “More!” He cackled in mad glee. “Slice me open an’ getcha gramma out. Cut me; cut me; cut me! Grind my bones to bake your bread. Break ’em; break ’em; break ’em!” Snapping his teeth, the jarring clanks raised the hair on Peter’s arms. “Toucha, toucha, touch me! I wanna feel dirty!”

Feigning disdain, Peter sneered. He popped the knuckles on one hand and then the other as he ordered, “Go lie on the bed. I’ll be there when I’m ready to deal with an insolent box.”

“Crack that whip; give the past the slip! If you must whip it, whip it good!” Yellow swung his arm up and round to smack his ass as he bopped from the room. Not that his banishment quieted him any. “Wadey left both whips in the tower—left, right, left, right—shoulda seen the way you danced. Looked like it hurt so good—yeah, hurt me, Petey. Make me wish I’d never been born; make me beg you to stop; make me scream until my throat bleeds.” His lewd groan conveyed his desperate and eager desire. “Sink your teeth right through my bones, baby; let’s see what you can do! C’mon and make it, ah, hurt so good; c’mon, baby, make it hurt so good.”

“Lay the foundation. Set the scene.” Disoriented by the quick switch Peter took a slow breath. “FRIDAY will you play Wade’s Perfect Day playlist from Spotify?” That should calm the savage Yellow without breaking the mood. “Can I get the lights dimmed to fifty percent and warmed to eighteen hundred Kelvin?”

While Peter waited for Yellow to calm a bit, he searched through the items from Wade’s recovery room. “C’mon, Daddy; I need something impressive that won’t hurt Yellow too much.” Peter didn’t have any experience with the bullwhips. That flogger would take a shitload of effort for Yellow to even notice in his current mood. A cane might be nice, but that one was split rattan sharp enough to shave the fuzz off a peach.

A two-meter–by–twelve-millimeter transparent-red thermoplastic rod? Why the heck would anybody need that? Sign optics? He slapped it against his palm. “Okay, now I know why Wade has it.” But was it a toy or a weapon? Did it even matter? Yellow would love it, and it wouldn’t slice him open like the rattan.

Decision made, Peter went to see how the box was doing.

Yellow lay on his stomach, naked at the foot of the bed. When he spotted the younger man, he wriggled his ass in a lascivious show. “Like what you see, boy?”

“I’ve always loved your body. Even before I fell for the rest of you.” Peter leaned against the rod to take in the rippling muscles under the marred skin. He laid the rod on the bed so he could trail his fingers down those powerful thighs, which shivered from the tickle. “These legs? I don’t understand why you don’t have to beat strangers back when you walk down the street. And damn, this back makes me feel like a tiny spec. Like an insignificant stan in your shadow. And these arms leave me weak in the knees. First time I met you, I had to hold myself back to keep from wrapping them around me and calling them my own.” Cock nearing full staff, he slid two fingers into the cleft of the bigger man’s tight ass and circled his muscular rim. “And this hole? Clearly made for me.”

Shimmying Yellow struggled to pull that teasing touch deeper. “Mmm, don’t know how you can stand to look; Whitey says we’re fug—”

“Well, White’s wrong. Do you remember looking in the mirror with me?”

“Hey, that’s right! We’re okay on the eyes.” Yellow glanced over his shoulder to meet Peter’s gaze. “Why would they lie like that?”

Peter shut down the exasperated sigh that tried to escape him. “Wade was wearing his suit all the time. Remember the sores? He felt too self-conscious to even shower, right?”

“Wait, I remember this… Almost… Cancer death smell and bloody suit, right? That’s what made people puke? Not our scars.”

“Not your scars.” An idea struck that plastered an evil smirk on his face. “If you’re a good box for me, I’ll let you watch when you finally get to come.”

Worrying his lip, Yellow flipped around and sat up to face Peter. “I’ve never seen us naked.”

“You don’t have to, but I think you’d like riding my cock, watching as I jerk you off.” Peter sashayed to the nightstand on Wade’s side of the bed. Reliable as always, FRIDAY put the lube in the most logical place.

“Hurt me first?” The words were breathy and drenched with want.

Peter hummed, certain his tender affection showed on his face. Not that he minded using pain to kindle a pyre of lust, but just this moment he wanted to scoop Yellow up and make love to him like the precious gem he was. “Kiss me first?”

Yellow placed a childish smooch on his lips and pulled away giggling.

“That’s the best you got? Maximum effort, right?”

The box coiled around Peter and pulled him into the bed. Draping that hard body over the younger man’s softer form, he leaned down to speak against Peter’s lips. “You want my best, boy?”

In an airy huff, he replied, “Always.”

Lightning moved slower than Yellow. Face down, ass ensnared in a vice grip, Peter jerked as the box straight up yeeted the plug from his entrance. The big man pressed a closed-mouth kiss to the furl of muscle before flicking out that talented tongue. Moaning, the massive box took his lover as he pleased. Through the smaller man’s taint a pin-point pressure on his prostate burned until the contact widened.

“Cage hurts. Please unlock me. Please.” Peter whimpered, too lost in the sensations to do more than beg.

Instead Yellow muttered, “No, Whitey, I can do it.” Thumbs massaged the inner line between Peter’s ass and his legs. “Ask for your correction, boy.”

His heart squeezed at the thought of the high-strung box dishing out his punishment. _This is going to hurt._ Between pants he forced out the expected question.

Yellow’s reply landed hard enough to jar. Then the box splayed his beloved across his lap in the middle of the bed, defenseless legs wide to accommodate his bulk between them.

Fast, heavy, open-handed blows landed one atop the other, low on each cheek in turn. Pain bloomed in Peter’s abused flesh. His yelps verged on screams. He struggled to escape the agony, his hands scrambling for purchase through the comforter. Angry tears welled before scalding down his cheeks. Pride wounded, he squalled with shame.

“Fuck yes, cry for me, boy.” Yellow upped his pace to a torturous crescendo.

Writhing, Peter jerked with each strike. His valiant efforts to save his hide from his ruthless lover proved wasted. The smaller man’s obvious agony egged the box on, and his punishment would last until he either calmed or pineappled. He grappled against his instincts and outrage, seeking the discipline to blunt his reactions. Little by little he overruled his instinct to fight. He accepted the misery as an unavoidable fact, a trial to be bore with grace.

The instant he felt calmed and centered, Yellow tapped him twice, the signal that Peter’s ordeal had ended. “My turn! My turn! Hurt me, break me, rip me, take me!”

Voice as weak as his body, Peter replied, “Time. Need time. Catch breath.” The spike of misery in his balls stood out, dazzling even against the electric burn of his ass. He groaned. “Cage. Please.”

“Key, key, key…” Yellow patted his legs and waist as if he expected to find his pouches.

“It’s around your neck,” Peter supplied as he rolled to his back.

“Oh.”

The instant Peter’s cage fell away, relief flooded his body. “Much better. Thanks.” He gazed up in a pleasant daze, a dopey grin spreading across his face. “So you think I’m gonna be able to return the favor when I can barely summon the strength to talk?”

Lip out, Yellow pouted. “But it’s only fair. You said you’d hurt me.”

Peter chuckled as he gently stroked the box’s ankle, mapping the ridges and valleys of the older man’s scars. “I will. Promise. Give my healing factor a few minutes to catch up.”

Awash in muted joy, Yellow nodded. Words soft with affection, he replied, “I can do that.” He glanced toward the ceiling. “Hey, JarJar, you up there?”

“Yes, my swag ballin’ Prince of Pandemonium.”

“How ’bout some swingin’ tunes?”

“For shizzle,” FRIDAY replied in JARVIS' crisp British accent.

_Is that The Cherry Poppin’ Daddies or Big Bad Voodoo Daddy?_ Peter supposed it didn’t matter so long as it made Yellow happy.

“How ’bout some technicolor mood lighting to go with that music?”

A shifting medley of vibrant hues swirled over them, pulsing with the bass.

“And, hey, next time you talk to Wade, call him _you loser wannabe Joker_.” Just the thought had Yellow cackling like a jackal.

In the usual feminine voice, FRIDAY replied, “I must decline your request, sir, should I expect Mr. Wilson to be displeased.”

“But I am Mr. Wilson.” Petulant, Yellow crossed his arms.

“You clearly are and are not Mr. Wilson, ergo I must default to mitigating the likelihood of property damage.”

“Stick up your ass too.” Yellow sulked with the full passion of a small child. “Whitey woulda done it.”

“White—” Peter almost made a misstep big enough to unravel his progress with the sullen box by saying he would do anything to torture Wade. Despite the truth in the statement, if he wanted to help either personality, he had to tread that fine line between condemning White and condoning his cruelty. To avoid any appearance of favoring a personality, he shifted course inelegantly, certain the lurking box took notice. “White would do a lot of things just to annoy Wade.” Peter added in a grumble, “How’d you get to be the easy one?”

“Boy, I’ve always been easy.” Yellow’s gaze swept the smaller man from head to toe before zeroing in on his crotch. He leered openly, his hungers obvious as he palmed his erection. “Here and now are the only things that exist, so why you dipshits wanna keep fretting about there and then?”

Peter opened his mouth, eager to explain, but hesitated as realization set in. “You’re right in the only ways that count. And smarter than anyone gives you credit for.”

“Thought you’d never notice.” Smirking Yellow strutted forward, glorious in his rare moment of unbridled confidence.

Free of his racing emotions and violent impulses, the man who prowled through the disco lighting knew precisely what he wanted and exactly how to get it. If Yellow could have matured, if Wade’s mind never shattered, this was the man they might have become, the man Peter had so often mourned in secret.

His lover stood whole.

A thought flashed behind Peter’s eyes, there and then forgotten: _I don’t see White._

In that same blink, Wade’s control abandoned the box, who shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

Peter’s heart broke. Whether hallucination or wishful thinking, hell even if the big man’s moment of clarity were real, none of that mattered. The unity shattered, dumping Peter back into the cold reality that his boyfriend’s mind protected his inner spirit the only way it could: by walling it off in a safe haven when life became too grueling to endure.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, boy. Do I need to get your Daddy?” Yellow rushed to Peter’s side and held him tight.

“No. Don’t.” Peter curled into the box’s embrace, allowing his grief to be comforted. “I just need to be sad for a second.”

Yellow hummed in reply as he stroked the younger man’s hair. “Then be sad, boy; cry all you want.” The fingers of his other hand jammed into Peter’s ribs a bit too hard to tickle, still making him jerk. “Then you can eat me raw, balls and all—don’t stop there, eat the hair. Except I haven’t got any…”

Peter’s faint smile brightened as Yellow continued to ramble nonsense. When a laugh broke through, he returned the rib jab. “You’re an idiot.”

“Asterisk your without the apostrophe.”

The younger man squinted. “First there’s two without an apostrophe, and second, no, I meant the one with an—”

“’M your idiot. But I’m beginning to think ’m just an idiot’s idiot, idiot.”

One eye twitched as his brain processed that exchange. “Hey! I meant you were acting silly to make me smile; you meant I can’t follow your train of thought!”

“Phew!” Yellow wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “Had me worried there for a sex, er, sec.”

“Which is where your train of thought inevitably circles back around to.” Peter gave an exaggerated nod. “I should just stay put in Sexpectation Station. You’ll show back up sooner or later.”

“Sooner. Always sooner. Like now?” He raised the rod upright, almost brushing the ceiling. “Sorry, JarJar, just gettin’ my stick up; didn’t mean nothing by it. Unless you want me to.”

“While I appreciate your concern, Mr. Wilson, I have no wants concerning your stick.”

“Figures. My stick, she’s not interested.” Yellow turned his attention back to his lover. “So whacha say, Petey? Will you hurt me now? I’ve been good, supportive, all that lovey-dovey shit, but I’m not a patient box.”

“All that lovey-dovey shit, huh?” Affection crinkled the corners of Peter’s eyes as he accepted the rod from Yellow. “My sweet yellow box, I’m gonna make you beg for mercy.”

Yellow squealed. Ignoring the Brian Setzer Orchestra, he sang, “Sweet dreams are made of these; who am I to disagree?” He followed Peter’s hand signals to stand facing the wall. “I traveled the world and the seven seas. Everybody’s looking for something.”

After a few trial swings with his too-long excuse for a cane, Peter adjusted his stance so the first blow landed level across the big man’s shoulders.

The next made the box wince a bit. “Harder, boy.” At twelve, Yellow slumped against the wall and let out a sinful groan. “If my cock gets any harder, it’s gonna bust.”

Peter ran his nails down the thick welts. “You want me to stop?” he teased.

The box gasped in mock distress. “Oh, fuck no, it’s just gettin’ good.”

A small eternity later, the rod shattered in Peter’s hands while his lover literally howled from the last blow. “Impact resistant doesn’t mean what I thought it means.” He huffed and crossed his arms, expecting Yellow to pout that his session had cut off abruptly.

Instead the box crouched on his toes and fingertips, his grin predatory. “Poor Little Yellow Riding Spider. Without a weapon, he’s powerless to escape the big bad wolf.”

Humoring Yellow, Peter turned to run but couldn’t clear his boyfriend’s range before the older man grabbed him and flung him to the springy, padded floor. One thick forearm pinned him face down on the luxurious, plush carpet. Snuffles over his skin brought the fine hairs on his arms and neck fully erect.

“My, what a big nose you have,” he quipped.

“All the better to smell how ripe you are for the fucking, boy.” Yellow rolled him to his back.

Gazing up, entranced by the box’s tongue as it flickered between his scarred lips, Peter continued, “My, what big teeth you have.”

The box nipped the shoulder he bit earlier, the pressure only a bit too hard. “All the better to rip you to shreds, boy.”

Reckless at this point, Peter followed up by making grabby hands at the other man’s crotch. “My, what a big cock you have.”

Yellow’s voice rose with eager delight. “All the better to watch you give me a reach around, boy.”

“Oh…” Peter had forgotten all about that. “There’s a mirror over the dresser. Provided you wanna let me up.”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do this shit!” Yellow was on his feet, strutting in that direction before Peter realized the pressure had let off his neck. The box studied his body in the colorful lights. “Nice guns. Thicc chest. Ripped abs. Ooh, I can see what gets you all hot and bothered, Petey. I’d tap that.”

After lubing up Peter slipped up behind his lover and kicked his feet wider apart. There, now he had a chance in hell of reaching his target. “FRIDAY play Wade’s I Touch Myself playlist.” Ready after a few strokes with his slick hand, Peter aligned their bodies. “Tell me what we’re doing, Yellow.”

“I’m gonna watch while you make me come.”

“Good. Keep those eyes open.” He grabbed a hip and pulled Yellow onto his cock. Unable to monitor the box’s expressions around the bigger man’s bulk, he instructed, “Tell me what you see, and don’t stop until you’re coming.” He sank slowly into his beloved’s heat.

“He looks like that hurt, but he’s also smiling.”

Peter stopped moving. “Yellow, he’s you. Try again.”

“I looked like that hurt, but I was smiling?”

“Good boy, such a good yellow box for me.” He rewarded that answer with a few slow, deep thrusts while stoking his clean hand over the welts he’d made.

“My whole body’s … oof, I’m shaking. Aw, don’t stop; those … my eyes were in agony, but that felt so fuckin’ good. All those pretty—no, all _my_ pretty, pretty muscles are standing out like—Oh, Petey, I look absolutely smashed!”

Picking up speed and slapping his groin against the big man’s ass, Peter let the box ramble waiting for the lyrics, “A fool could see just how much I adore you. I'd get down on my knees, I'd do anything for you.” He wrapped his lube-drenched hand around his lover’s erection, enjoying the squeeze when the box tensed.

Yellow made a valiant effort to obey. “Yeah, right there—oh!—makes me—ah, ah—Petey, gonna—a-a-ah, fuck!” He doubled over as his wail went silent. His cock pulsed and bobbed as he christened the room.

_Damn, got too wound up to lay out a towel._

Pent up, Peter longed to keep going. Although Yellow would let him, he refused to heap any wasted pain onto the box this time, since he hoped for the memory to be clear, happy, and triggerable. Reluctantly he pulled back.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going, Little Yellow Riding Spider?” Even the air froze from the ice in his words.

Peter’s balls drew up for all the wrong reasons. Namely he had only heard Yellow use that register when he was eager for the kill. _Show no fear._ With his spidey sense silent, he found his voice, though it came out conspicuously high. “Didn’t wanna overstimulate you. Figured we’d pick back up in the shower.”

“Hurt me, boy.” Yellow’s voice had resumed its gruff edge—his normal tone when he was spontaneously aged up, another peek into the enigma for Peter. “Break me like only you can.”

“Yes, Yellow.” Peter sank to the hilt and placed both hands on the bigger man’s shoulders.

“No, wait!” Yellow demanded, his voice tinged with a manic high. He pulled off Peter’s erection and spun around. “Wanna watch you so I have something to compare me to.”

Peter tried to resist—he wanted to be good for his owner and hurt Yellow more—but the words broke free: “Please, lay me down and fuck me like you hate me.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The box grabbed him in a possessive embrace.

Embarrassed by the outburst he asked, “So I’ve hurt you enough to keep you happy?”

“Doancha see, boy? You. You’re enough,” Yellow asserted in a dark rumble. “You’ve always been misery enough to keep me happy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Break our heart a thousand times, and we’ll still come crawling back for more.” Yellow’s laugh came out cold and dangerous. “But you know that, doancha, Spidey. Always denying us but never running us off? Oh, you like lording that power over us.”

Instinct said Peter should feel guilty and afraid, but a deeply buried worry popped like a soap bubble. His entire life he had brought nothing but sorrow to those he loved, and this man not only expected that pain but reveled in it. His broken lover flourished where others chipped and shattered.

No amount of Parker Luck would scare Deadpool away. He’d never demand more than Peter could give, never expect the picket fence. With a sappy grin that he couldn’t find the energy to school, Peter cherished exactly how little his lover cared about anything but spending time with him.

Aloft in Yellow’s arms his body reeled with his mind until he hit a ridiculously soft bed, like lying on a cloud. His bliss ended with a sharp crack across his abused backside.

“Ass up, boy.”

Rising to his hands and knees, Peter canted his hips so his chest remained low. Yellow didn’t wait for more. Speared before he was ready, Peter gasped at the sudden sting. While one hand dictated a rapid pace at his hip, the other pushed down at the small of his back, forcing him to arch until his strained muscles spasmed in protest.

Yellow snickered behind him. “Doggie style. And here you thought Big Bad wanted to eat you.”

When Peter chuckled, his whole body clenched. His core constricted around the familiar intrusion inside him tightly enough to make both groan. Abs scorched with lactic acid, he panted against the familiar burn.

The box offered no reprieve. He grabbed Peter’s wrists and pulled them back. Using them for leverage he plowed Peter into the bed.

He whimpered and whined as the pain dulled to that pervasive, needy ache he enjoyed so much. “So good,” he gasped, breath precious as he struggled to keep up with Yellow at full stride.

So of course the box released him and smacked the heat of one cherry-red cheek. “Roll over. Look’it me.” He grinned down as his smaller lover obeyed. “Hold them legs up and don’t think about letting go. Eyes up here, boy, on me.”

“Yes, Ye-eh-eh—oh!” Peter could either run his snark hole or enjoy Yellow’s ruthless affections, not both. Yeah, that choice came easily, as he clung onto his legs for dear life.

Yellow’s arms and thighs caged him, that massive body pressed close. The box’s cock stung his raw flesh but found his sweet spot, grounding into it on every stroke.

Though careful to keep his focus on Yellow, Peter floated in perfect agony on the cusp of release. Accustomed to this moment being drawn out, he yelped in surprise as an iron grip engulfed his raging erection. “Too much, too much, too much, I’m gonna come!”

Warning either too late or ignored entirely, he shrieked as hot pearly ropes spilled between them. He quaked as short, deep, fast strokes ravaged his sensitized body. Powerless against the box’s brutality, Peter surrendered to the pain.

Yellow locked eyes with him, as the big man’s lupine grin grew keen and sadistic. “Gonna keep my sheep suit on, til I’m sure you’ve been shown I can be trusted walking with you alone.”

With a final thrust deep into his compliant body, Yellow wrapped a hand around the smaller man’s neck. Peter should have panicked, but he couldn’t seem to summon the necessary fear that Yellow would choke off the oxygen to his brain as the box emptied inside him.

Ignoring the mess they were making, Yellow pulled out and dropped heavily onto Peter’s chest. “Brutal enough for you, boy?”

“Perfect.” Peter stroked one scarred cheek, too blissed out to do anything except doze off.

Peter woke miserably sticky to the question, “Hey, baby boy, where the fuck are we?” Ugh, had he swallowed a cat? His dry throat felt lined in fur.

Once he worked up enough spit, he replied, “Tower. Our suite.” His stomach growled, and he whimpered. “No, Daddy, don’t be mad at Yellow. He was such a good box for me.”

“Looks like.” Wade snorted in amusement. He checked the smaller man over, pressing each bruise that remained after a day of primal play with Yellow. Once he was satisfied with Yellow’s balance of careful and cruel, he asked, “Hey, ceiling voice?”

“Yes, you loser wannabe Joker?” FRIDAY asked.

For a full ten seconds Wade simply gaped. He doubled over, laughing so hard it hurt to watch. Between gasps, he forced out, “Well, fuck you too, Jeevette.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my dope ass Prince of Pandemonium, as I lack a body.”

“Everybody’s a comedian,” Wade muttered, though he still laughed. “Hey, can we get, like, four meatball subs? Each?”

“Ain’t a thang, sir.”

“Thanks, Jeevette.” He waved to dismiss the AI.

By the time they’d showered, their food appeared at the dumbwaiter in the kitchen. They watched Cake Wars reruns while they scarfed down the sandwiches. Afterward Peter insisted on a patrol, and by the time they arrived home, he was bushed, beat, zonked, and exhausted, not necessarily in that order.

“Ready for your new and improved Fap Roulette?”

Peter slumped, utterly not impressed by the idea. “No.”

“Perfect,” Wade cooed, unlocking Peter’s cage, leaving him too vulnerable and too accessible. “To the game board, my fine spidery fuck puppet.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter most certainly did not drag his feet; Aunt May had raised him better than that. From Wade’s lap he studied the modified board. Number of edges and location were gone, the bondage had new options, and Challenge moved to Doubles, while Triples read: _Roll 1d8 for time modifier._ “Thirty-two minutes, really?”

“Nope. Forty-eight. The time die is now the d6. Better hope you never roll a high triple. Through topping from the bottom yet, baby boy?”

Peter flushed so hot it scalded. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Wade scratched across the younger man’s scalp before petting his hair. “’S alright.” He pressed a die into Peter’s hand as he rutted against his lover. “I always want you to come running to me willing and eager, even after the easy part of bootcamp ends in the morning.”

“Easy?” Peter felt his heart sink. “None of this has been easy.”

“Gasp! I’m the easiest slut you ever met, Petey-pie! How could you say such a thing?” He plucked the die from Peter’s grip. “I should just take my toys and go home.”

“We are home.” Peter grabbed for the die, eager to get this done and over.

Tsking, Wade held it out of his reach. “Beg for it, baby boy; tell me how much you want to play Fap Roulette and make me believe it.”

“This is what I get for requesting more mind fuck, isn’t it?”

“Among other things.” Tugging Peter’s collar, Wade smiled broadly. “So many other things.”

Peter wasn’t feeling it, but he tried to think of something. “Fap Roulette is… fyun?”

“Oh? You re-e-eally like it?” Wade unzipped his fly.

“Oh, yeah, Ren. It’s our favorite game in the whole wide yorld!”

“Then you best get to convincing. Otherwise Daddy might decide his boy isn’t happy enough.” To illustrate the threat he pulled out his erection and slapped his boy’s hip with his cock.

Peter slipped to his knees and turned to face the bigger man. Striving to channel his inner Stimpy, he begged, “I wanna play Fap Roulette. Please, Daddy? It’s the best game yever, and I yove it so much. I wanna jack myself until I’m leaking and desperate. I love being so horny I’m crying before you toss me over your knee for my last spanking of the day. Please, Daddy, let me have just one die? I’ll be such a good boy for you if you’ll just let me play Fap Roulette.”

“Nah, still not buying it, baby boy. Tell me how good it’ll feel.”

“It’ll feel so good, Daddy; I’ll be right there on the edge, screaming with how bad I wanna come, but I wanna be a good boy for you even more, and I’ll pull my hands away.” Peter’s breath deepened with the thought. “I’ll teeter right there, on the edge of release, on the edge of ecstasy, and deny myself again, just to show you how much I adore being your good boy, how I love to make you proud.”

As he continued to ramble about want and control, he knew Wade’s intent had been to shift his focus, but the sheer effectiveness surprised him. He inhaled in a desperate heaving gulp.

“Please, Daddy, lemme show you what a good boy you’ve got.” Erection hard against his stomach he had to grab onto Wade’s thighs to keep his hands back. “Show my owner what a tame boy he has.”

That set the big man to laughing. “Nothing tame about you, baby boy.” He spilled the dice over the gameboard. “Five minutes, prone, frog tied, 33⅓—that’s a special one, rpms instead of bpms. You even get to choose where you wanna do it.” He opened YouTube on his phone. “Here’s a playlist of 45s that have been slowed down. I like Dolly Parton’s Jolene, makes for a sad-cowboy-in-love song, but you can pick any of them.”

Less intimidated, Peter nodded. This he could do without feeling overwhelmed.

Ankle cuffs clipped to thigh cuffs, Peter made a trial hump into his fist. As much as he wanted to keep going, he waited for Wade to start the timer. Their bed had been too soft and the springs too pokey, but he struggled to piece together how he wound up displayed on the coffee table for his owner to watch. As a deep baritone sang the praises of Jolene, the timer started up with its steady tick. Repeatedly he stroked his cock until his face warmed, his muscles trembled, and his chest heaved. And every time he pulled his hands away, he unleashed an anguished cry. His sobs started long before Wade told him to grab his ankles and ended well after the last strike from Peter’s Punishment Paddle™. For long minutes he sniffled against Wade’s chest, heart brimming with dread and awe, aware that the easy part of bootcamp had just ended.

Nine days remained, and Peter drifted off wondering how could they possibly get more intense.


	23. Day 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back around to Maughty Movel Monday: book club!  
And a special one at that.  
Don't leave the Blasted Heath until the exhausted Petey... Okay, well, he doesn't sing, but you get the point.
> 
> So very not edited. Brain fried. They refused to let me nap. A million degrees in here and the instant I start dozing, these two jokers pop up and blatantly coerce me into finishing the chapter.

Before Peter’s mind submerged into his work for the day, he turned to Dr. Banner. “Do you know anything about Compound X07?”

“Don’t tell me you got caught up in that mess.”

_That couldn’t be good. _“What mess exactly?”

“Six dead lab techs, fourteen dead addicts, twelve—”

Blood running cold, Peter raised a hand to stop the man. “Okay. I get it. Traditional Deadpool rampage.” _Focus on the ones you have saved. You can’t save them all, and you can’t change a person. Particularly not Deadpool. Either accept it or ignore it, Parker; this is a fight you will lose, and then you’ll be butthurt for a week. If you’re lucky._

_Focus on the ones you have saved. You can’t save them all._ Peter’s mantra since he met Wade. He didn’t have to like it, but if he wanted to stay with the man he loved, he did have to accept it as reality.

Meanwhile Banner bobbed his head for a moment. “Trouble at home? That why you ask?”

“Not really.” Peter shrugged. “Of course Wade hadn’t told me anything about that.”

“I can see why.” He crossed his feet at the ankles and leaned back. A full minute later he’d reached his conclusions. “I don’t think it was a botched formula so much as Madcap absorbed hundreds of times a normal dose. From what little I’ve seen and heard, it left him near immortal, with a complete loss of nociception, limited tactile perception, severe emotional damage, and a nihilistic streak. Though that might be from waking up in a film of blood floating on pool of super soldier serum, all his friends and family wiped out in one violent blink.”

A tickle of memory rose in the back of Peter’s mind, but it refused to coalesce into a thought. “That guy, Madcap, where is he?”

“You can’t talk to him.”

Peter expected such ultimatums from Tony, not Bruce. “And why not?” he demanded.

Sheepish, Banner ran a hand through his hair. “That came out wrong. First because he’d make you crazy. Second because he’s dead. Thor hit him and Wade with lightening, and only Wade came back.”

“Oh. Well, that would make it harder.” Peter took a few moments to consider his options. “Is there any footage of the guy?”

“FRIDAY, do we have access to the footage of Steve’s fight with Madcap?”

“That’s not available in this location, sir. I can play the footage of Nomad’s fight with Madcap immediately prior.”

“Nomad?” A tiny grin played on Banner’s face.

“Yes, sir, do you wish it displayed on your terminal?” the AI asked.

Amused the good doctor replied, “Please. I’ve got to see Cap Light in action.”

The image quality sucked, but that only enhanced the disjointed feel Peter got from the sea of uninhibited civilians doing their best impersonations of Yellow on PCP. At one edge of the frame, a man pranced in a costume somewhere between a harlequin and a pirate. He shot a bubble gun, and more people joined the riot. The footage continued to hold Peter spellbound as a hero arrived, as they struggled.

Madcap groused, “Life is just one blamed thing after another. Why bother trying to understand it?” A minute later he quipped, “I can’t be hurt and I can’t feel a thing. Nothing. No sensation.”

Peter snorted. “Jeez, no wonder White was so concerned about X07. He sounds just like this guy.”

“I’ve noticed people tend to hate seeing their own weaknesses reflected in others.” Banner stroked his chin in thought before turning to his work.

Peter on the other hand shoved that insistent tickle of not-quite thought back into his subconscious. He could deal with that if it popped up again. For now he had a responsibility to SI: eight hours of his best work.

He managed to complete six of those before his phone chimed with a text from Wade. _Is it l8r bb?_

_I’m working. So no._ Peter shut off his phone and buried himself in his job. When he turned it back on two hours later, he had texts. So many texts. He rubbed both hands at his temples.

_Mmm like it when u science  
Gets me all hot n bothered  
Like those silk panties caressing ur pefrect ass  
Still thinking about u and that big sexy brian  
Makes my neathers all tingly  
Want your lips wrapped around it bb  
Wat to watch you suck me  
Them innocent doe eys lookin up  
Naughty bb not sexting dd back  
Mmm like it when you earn the punishment bb  
What to do with a bad bb  
Guess ull hafta come hone an find out  
Mr. Sparkles gettin all ur lovin bb  
Poor bb, dd gonna be all fucked dry  
Nah u no dat’s bullshit  
Dd always got more spunk for u_

***

Spanked, work, naked, spanked, all pretty standard so far. What Peter did find odd was his slim copy of _The Engineer’s Guide to Improv and Art Games_ on the table beside Wade’s easy chair. While the smaller man lingered on his lover’s lap, Wade noted his curiosity and reached over to close the book, revealing _Set-Up-to-Fail Syndrome_ below it.

At least Peter knew what to expect next—except, knowing his man, those were red herrings. What kind of idiot asked to up the mindfuck? Peter’s kind, obvs. And judging by Wade’s smirk, he was more than happy to oblige, no matter how much work it created for the ex-merc.

“Read anything good?” Peter asked.

Wade booped his nose with affection. “Good boys wait to find out.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter curled into his warm, strong arms, then sighed in contentment. “I trust you.” That barrel chest shook against him as Wade chuckled.

“You’re getting there.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “So now I fuck that up and revive it again and again. ’S what I’m best at, B-T-dubs.” He signaled for Peter to present standing by the chair. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” He padded to their room, returned with a briefcase, and sat back down. “Whacha think might be inside here?”

Options raced through Peter’s mind for several seconds, from explosives to Golden Girls dvds to some tripped-out kink kit that would leave him wrecked. All too obvious. It’d be something random or obscure, like fishing tackle or a minibar of Asgardian intoxicants and aphrodisiacs. If Wade could gain access to Pym particles—and if anyone could, it would be Deadpool—the options became endless. “Daddy, can I have a clue?”

“It’s yours.” Wade ran a fingernail up the inside of Peter’s thigh to make him shiver.

“The clue?”

“Nuh-uh, what’s inside here, it belongs to you.” He cupped the smaller man’s balls, kneading gently. “Spread those legs wider, baby boy.”

Peter scrunched his nose even as his shifted his legs. “Not a very good clue, since I had most everything in this apartment before you moved in.”

“Okay, baby boy, let’s see if I, er, we can help you out here… It’s paper. All paper.”

So books? More likely _a_ book. Not just any book but a paperback. So what of his books went with the idea of gaming him to fail? Wait, is it a book he has or a book he wants? What kind would Daddy pick to buy? He preferred fiction to nonfiction and porn to plebian.

Peter let out a shaky sigh as he announced, “It’s a kinky novel off my wishlist?”

“Not for reading.” By now Wade had his lover’s scrotum warm enough to stretch. Trapped between fingertips and palm, he pulled the thin skin taut. “Wanna try again?”

What the hell else was made of paper? Origami and… As his dearth of ideas slammed over him, Peter shoved his disappointment back, his curiosity exceeding his desire to work it out on his own. “No, Daddy.”

“Did… Did you just curb your stubborn streak?” Wade gasped, hands on his cheeks, and beamed up at his boy.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Then without further ado…” Wade pressed his thumbs to the scanners and released the locks. He lifted the lid.

Money. More money than Peter had ever seen in his life. “Jesus, Wade, what the fuck? Did you rob a bank?”

“Your half of the job.” Wade scowled as he signaled for the younger man to present kneeling. “And that’s Daddy to you, baby boy. At least for nine more days.”

“Yes, Daddy.” The heat running across his skin only made him blush harder. “Sorry, Daddy.” Those books weren’t a red herring; they were a prime to direct his guess. Else they were completely incidental, perhaps ideas for later.

“’S alright, sweet boy.” Wade paused for a long moment, simply running his fingers over Peter’s face. “Since you never gave us your bank info, we thought we’d just bring it to you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

The big man grinned. “Not a problem. We had the time.”

“No, I mean you shouldn’t have. Wad—er, Daddy, I can’t accept this. That guy died.”

“Baby boy, that kind of danger, that kind of awful to you and awesome to us, that’s why we make the big bucks. You earned this.”

“I know that, but I promised myself—”

Wade gave a curt nod. “Right. So if it’s not ours and you won’t take it, what do we do with it?”

“Oh.” Glad he was no longer standing Peter felt a bit faint. “What to do with a million dollars that no one owns…?”

“Half a mil,” the smirking asshole corrected. “White insisted we put the rest in an interest-bearing account for you in case the day comes that you have no choice. Weasel has the basic account info filed with the rest of our important papers, but FRIDAY has the access codes in Stark’s personnel file on you, along with directives in case you die without spending it.”

“Oh.” Peter’s brain jumped track, derailed entirely. “What do you suggest?”

“Nuh-uh-uh, baby boy. Not gonna shove this off on me or White. Not even for Dom Pedro.”

“Don’t call me that,” Peter replied automatically while he stared dumbfounded at the money in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Because we’d’ve done it already if we had any idea of what a goody two-shoes would do.”

Peter could certainly gift it to the older man, but there was no telling what of Yellow’s suggestions that Wade might decide was a good idea. The box impulse-spent not-so-small fortunes that way on the regular, until White stepped in and put them a reasonable budget again.

Perhaps they should consider buying a nicer place; though a half-mil wouldn’t go far in Manhattan, it’d still buy a modest place in Queens. No, that would still be benefitting from someone’s death. Except didn’t he already do that simply by letting Deadpool into his life with tacos and banter? Maybe it was time to revisit that rule?

Ouch. Way too much like manipulating his values to get what he wanted. Exactly the mistake Wade and Peter both wanted to avoid at all costs. So that’s a firm no way in hell.

Besides, did he even want a bigger place? This had been home since he moved out for college. He and Wade made the cramped space work: bullet-resistant sound proofing, easy-open windows, and whatever upgrades Wade made to the plumbing and appliances. Besides their neighbors were used to them here. For that matter, if he craved luxury, they had a tower suite like the rest of NYC’s supers.

Oh. Deadpool and Spiderman had been accepted as NYC supers.

How did that slip past his notice? Right, he’d been focused on Yellow talking to his boss.

“You okay in there, Peter? What color?”

“Hmm…?” His mind snapped back to the here and now—though not without shoving a mental bookmark into place. He needed to revisit what the inability to mentally access the then and there meant for Yellow. In the meantime Peter’s overwhelming options needed to be sorted and weighed before he could make any reasonable decision. “Oh… I’m green. Just… Can I have some time?”

“Fine.” Wade cautioned sternly, “I’ll stash it in the weapons closet for now, but I suggest you decide by the penultimate day of bootcamp. That leaves Daddy the last day to enact Operation: Pay Peter Properly™”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter had no idea of what that might entail during bootcamp, not even if it would seem good or bad to him, only that Wade’s scowl promised that the bigger man would prefer Peter made a decision.

The big man sat the case on the other side of his chair. “I know Aunt May is mediocre at best when working from a recipe, but why can’t you cook, science boy?”

“What?” Peter blinked as his brain stuttered, unable to make out what had been asked of him. “Care to repeat that for me, Daddy?”

“You, Mr. Biochem Engineer. Your palate is good. You can follow directions. So why can’t you denature proteins with heat in tasty, tasty ways?”

“Um. Between school, the Bugle’s wages, Aunt May, and now you, I either didn’t have time, couldn’t afford the ingredients, or the food showed up ready to eat. I mean, I can keep myself alive, but I’d not be happy to live off what I can cook for the rest of my life, and I see no good reason to inflict my learning process on anyone else. So I guess—” When Wade raised a hand, Peter stopped before even getting to the part where he got bored and his mind wandered.

“Gotcha, baby boy.”

Peter hit the ceiling before he realized that sensation was his plug, now actively thrumming.

“Somebody’s a little nervous.” Wade snickered up at him. “Yeah, kneeling over our chair,” he told his boxes as he kicked out the footrest and leaned back. “Supposed to be presenting that hot, caged cock for us. Put it right over our face.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter shifted into position. Flames of shame licked across his cheeks as he realized any teasing would make him dribble on the big pervert.

“Ooh, Yellow, when you’re a genius, you’re a super genius.” Wade grinned up unabashedly as he picked up his phone and, judging by the low _whoa-oa-oh_ in the background, put on the soundtrack to _The Greatest Showman_. “You’d be amazed how much Wolvie likes this stuff.” He set the phone on his side table before laughing wickedly. “What’s your favorite, dirtiest exhibitionism fantasy, baby boy?”

Like Peter’d had a moment to fantasize in the last few weeks, and their world before bootcamp seemed a million lightyears away. Voice soft, barely there, he admitted, “We’re already so far past anything I ever dared…”

“Then it’s time to make a new fantasy, baby boy. And if ya don’t hurry, we’ll be late for book club.”

Book club. Damn. Depraved scenes flashed through his mind, now with an audience. “You’ve gotta quit priming me; it’s making my brain itch.”

Wade only laughed as he turned up the speed on the smaller man’s plug.

“I love their eyes on me.” Oh, Peter knew what more he wanted to say—he wanted Wade to take him while they watched—but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“And we love the way you love it.” Wade palmed his erection through his pants. “So what’s my boy doing to keep those eyes on him? C’mon, baby boy, talk dirty to me.”

“I’m… I’m letting you—”

“Nuh-uh, Daddy’s little princeling of carnal delights, what are you doing? Tell me every excruciating detail. How are you presenting Daddy’s body for them?”

_Owned._ Peter shivered from the thought. Though a moot point once he accepted that he’d never walk free of Wade again, he still questioned the wisdom of surrendering himself to a madman. Of course, he’d always had more smarts than sense.

“Asked you a question, baby boy. You’re already having to say the things you should have texted earlier. You won’t enjoy making Daddy stack another punishment on top of this one.”

“Punishment?” Peter blinked owlishly down at him as the word slowly seeped into his thoughts.

“How are you presenting Daddy’s body?” Wade repeated extra slowly, his voice deeper.

“Kneeling. I’m kneeling in front of you.”

“Kneeling. I like that part, but hmm, nope, the rest doesn’t sound quite right. I think it’s the _I_ part. Try again.”

Peter licked his lips as the butterflies kicked up in his stomach. Been a while since he’d felt those guys. Should he say hello? Was that something people did when their butterflies came back after a short absence?

“Ba-a-abe-e-ey bo-o-oe-e-ey?” Wade singsonged. “Daddy told you to try again.”

“Sorry, Daddy. I—er, your boy is kneeling. Sir.”

“My boy won’t be using personal pronouns the rest of bootcamp if he doesn’t concentrate.” That wicked, crooked grin gave Peter’s nervous butterflies anxiety caterpillars. “What’s my boy doing to keep all those eyes on him?”

“He’s begging, Daddy.”

“For what, little princeling?”

“He’s begging to suck Daddy’s cock, to make Daddy feel good.”

“Bet they’d be disappointed if Daddy just whipped it out.”

Peter nodded. “So your boy has to work for it. He’s nuzzling and begging and promising—”

“What’s he promising, sweet boy?” Contrary to his words, Wade’s expression held a cruel edge, as if he envisioned something quite specific. Or perhaps watched it play out on the ceiling above him.

“Your boy’s promising to be the best little cocksucker, if only you’ll let him.”

“Well Daddy can’t give in yet, now can he?”

“No, Daddy. So your boy promises to swallow it all, not waste a drop.” Peter bit his lip, hoping the vulgarity was what his Daddy wanted.

“What if all that begging doesn’t work?”

“I—your boy reaches for your fly, watches your face to… to make sure… you…”

“Make sure Daddy isn’t gonna slap his hands away?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“How’s it feel when my boy finally gets his hands on Daddy’s cock?”

“Satisfying. Perfect. Daddy let him have a little victory, let him touch and kiss, let him taste—”

Wade growled softly. “No, how does my boy feel?”

“Bold. Indulged. Spoiled and loved and wanted.”

“So is that what my boy wants the people to see?”

A small wildfire raged across Peter’s cheeks. He watched a drop of pre as it fell from his caged cock to his boyfriend’s face. “I, um, your boy wants them to see him…” He had to swallow down a knot of unease. “Used.” The word came out in a broken croak, but he pushed forward. “Possessed. Debased. Taken.” Whimpering he pushed the pain of his arousal to the back of his mind. “See how completely your boy gives himself to you.”

The questions kept coming and Peter kept answering. Awkwardly. Nervously. Watching Wade absently stroke his cock, the younger man talked his way through a luxurious blowjob, a generous pegging, and a rough fuck.

“All of that without ever asking Daddy to take off his boy’s cage?”

Peter flushed. He’d forgotten himself entirely. “Daddy, if your boy is very, very good, will you let him come for the people?”

“Maybe I’ll let them decide.” Wade gestured to the empty room around them. “What say you? Should my baby boy get to come?”

Peter couldn’t hold back his laugh.

Wade checked his phone. “We still have plenty of time to get you scrubbed and dressed for book club. You should come down here.” He patted his thighs with both hands. “Come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

Clinging by his fingertips Peter let his body unfold slowly. One foot to either side of his boyfriend, he dropped down. Chest to chest he kissed up that muscular neck. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, baby boy.” Wade hummed at the press of lips to his scarred skin. “You want anything special before we head for the shower?”

“Just wanna make Daddy feel good.”

The big man snorted with indulgence. “I meant for dinner.”

“Oh, food, right, food. That stuff. Yeah, food sounds good.”

“So tacos it is.” He smirked up, sparkling eyes tracking the microexpressions of disappointment that passed across the smaller man’s face.

Peter bit his lip, certain it was too late now. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Or I could… _could_… change the spices just a bit, add some rice, and we’d have Indian curry?”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

After a few kisses to those marred lips, Peter kissed and wriggled his way lower until he could take Wade’s cock in his mouth. Pace set by a hand engulfing the back of his head, he proceeded to show his gratitude for the change in the menu.

***

Still hidden by the curtain, Peter held to the bar overhead as Wade talked to the crowd in the ballroom of the Blasted Heath. Judging by their breathing and the sheer number of heartbeats, twice as many people came out to see him this week as last.

The occasional faint jingle of bells revealed that Brandy had made the show. He’d not expected to find any comfort in the ability to name one of their guests, but when he imagined the audience as rockabilly kinksters, the voyeurs seemed less likely to make harsh judgments than Average McAveragerson.

“Shh,” Wade told them, and Peter imagined his finger pressed to his lips. “He doesn’t know I have this… Or a painstick…” That stuttering zap and those orange flickers that reflected under the curtain dredged up the distinct impression of a cattle prod even before the curtain opened to reveal sparks dancing between two electrodes, the room beyond cast in shadows.

Eyes wide, Peter continued to stare at the afterglow even as the lights dimmed on him.

“Now then…” Wade cooed loudly from behind him. “We practiced talking, right, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“All you have to do is keep talking. Anytime you stop—” a harsh zap “—you get a gentle reminder to stay on task. And let’s make this a little extra interesting, since you’ve been a little extra today.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“I’m taking away your personal pronouns again. Any slips…” Another zap crackled behind the smaller man. “Ready, baby boy?”

“No, Daddy.” _No, no, no, not ready, definitely NOT ready._

“Willing to try it anyway?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

When he stopped speaking, Peter’s knee jerked before he registered both the zap of the cattle prod and the gentle violet glow of the actual source of the electric pulse against his flesh. A jolt against the other knee set his mouth into motion.

“Daddy, please, I—” Peter yelped as a jolt popped along his side. “Your boy doesn’t think he can do this, and he doesn’t have time to get his brain ahead of his mouth, and it’s kinda making him feel like he’s gonna puke, and he doesn’t think this one is fun, but he’ll do it if you ask, but he doesn’t like th—”

One big hand clamped over his mouth, knocking his mask off center. “Shh. ’S okay, baby boy. Everything’s okay. Take a breath. Calm your mind. Can you do that, baby boy? Can you calm down for Daddy?”

Peter nodded slowly.

“Remember your practice, when it was just the two of us?”

He nodded again.

“Would you rather do some of that?”

With a third nod, Peter slumped back against the big man’s chest. “Yes, Daddy. I can handle the blowjob,” he replied, his voice clear despite being muffled by Wade’s hand.

“There’s my good boy.” Wade withdrew his touch. “How ’bout a little light show first?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Several metallic clicks from behind Peter echoed in his head. The ex-merc showed him the new contact head on the wand: six spiked wheels. From his reading, the sensation could range from pleasant to horrific, like a dozen knives carving into his soul, depending on the settings and his tolerance.

The wheels pressed into his wrist with a buzz that warmed as they rolled down his arm. Straight ahead a thousand violet sparks reflected back at him from eyes that hardly dared to blink. When the wheel reached his waist, he fought to keep from shimmying from the burn, his effort acknowledged by a few sharp intakes of breath. As the wheel reached his thigh, his quad trembled. Someone whimpered in sympathy. By the time Wade reached his calf, he hissed, barely able to keep from kicking out against the pain, which cut off abruptly at his ankle.

Peter sagged in relief, taking the moment to catch his breath.

“Good boy,” Wade cooed, even as he touched the razor-fire of electricity to Peter’s other wrist. “So very good, baby boy.”

Eyes squeezed tight against the agony, Peter panted through lips pulled snug to his teeth. The pain became tolerable again at his shoulder. It tapered down, and when it reached his ankle, the audience echoed his deep groan of pleasure.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he rasped out.

“Do you want me to call an intermission to hang a sheet, or do you want to feel those eyes right against that luscious body?”

“It’s fine, Daddy.” Peter tilted his head to one side, exposing his neck for warm lips to kiss and suck. “Let them see. It’s what they came for, after all.”

“Your wish, baby boy.” Wade lifted his lover’s hands from the overhead bar, then made a single tap on his phone.

As the stage lights intensified behind them, the soundtrack from _The Greatest Showman_ started up. “You’d be amazed how much Wolvie likes this stuff,” Wade repeated over the speakers.

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat, and he froze, total deer in headlights. It’d been just the two of them, and he hadn’t anticipated living out his desires with the book club quite so fully. _You have met your boyfriend, right, so why would you ever doubt he’d put your most intimate desires out here on display when this scenario was the foundation of the fantasy?_

Wade leaned in, his breath hot on his boy’s ear. “You okay with this, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m fine—’s just a little unexpected.”

“We stop the instant you want. Or we can do something completely different; I have more ideas.”

“It’s fine, Daddy. What’s a little cock worship among friends?” Peter’s butterflies took flight, as his own voice, strangely high when coming from outside his head, instructed him to kneel, then moments later to beg. “Please, Daddy, just a taste. I love how you taste so much; please let me slide my tongue over your slit to gather up just a teeny little drop of that salty flavor that’s all you.”

“_L’esprit d’escalier_.” Smirking down, gaze never straying, Wade remained impassive but clearly amused, aware Peter had worked hard to craft that one line after his floundering efforts to put this fantasy into words earlier.

For a short eternity Peter made a spectacle of dramatic pleas and lurid promises the words coming freely now since his mind had already unraveled what he wanted to convey. Hands at the ready on Wade’s pants, he peered upward. Graced with a nod, eyes locked on his lover’s, he tugged the button open with his teeth while he pulled the zipper down. Backlit in profile, their audience surely couldn’t make out the exact motions, so he pushed back, his arms separating the silhouettes into what he hoped made a clear picture.

Never the fool, leaky sieve aside, Wade beamed his approval as the Peter corrected their theatric presentation, as enraptured as the Divas they’d invited into their love story. He tugged the big man’s slacks to his ankles. Skin on display that smile vanished, replaced with a determined set to his flexing jaw.

The next moments would reveal an expression Peter was most curious to see.

Though only Wade and Peter anticipated the words, they all waited together. Following the cues of his disembodied and too high voice—“My mouth waters as I peel your underwear away. I know what’s coming, but they don’t.”—Peter tuned all of his senses to pick up as much information as possible.

When Wade’s cock popped into view, the audience gasped. They took a heartbeat to process the proportions, then a thousand subdued murmurs erupted from the previously silent crowd, a riot in his head of amused pleasure, impressed jealousy, and even a few hints of fear for the smaller man.

Peter’d had about the same reaction the first time he could focus on that four-point-one centimeters in diameter and just shy of twenty in length, not tremendously enormous but definitely in proportion to Wade’s bulk. What? The measuring calipers were right there, like he wasn’t going to find out he was swallowing nearly eight inches of inch-and-a-half pipe?

The stress around Wade’s jaw eased. As Peter instructed himself to, “lick a hot stripe from balls to tip,” a softer smile graced his boyfriend as he preened at the appreciation for his form.

_Hard to say ‘I told you so’ with your mouth full of dick._ So Peter pushed ahead to keep himself from making that mistake. With each head bob he worked a bit more into his mouth, much to the book club’s awe and delight.

“I don’t see how he could possibly swallow that monster.” Faint, so very faint, but Wade’s face collapsed into a hard, blank slate under his mask, the dangerous cant of his eyes half shadowed in that harsh light.

“I’d give anything to find out,” came the whispered reply, and those shadows grew shallower, his anger dimmed and better restrained.

_C’mon, he’s listening; fix this shit so he knows what you meant._

“Ngh, I’d rather have the whole package pounding me into the mattress.”

As a soft chorus shushed the commentary, fondness washed over Wade’s scarred features, a soft acknowledgement that Peter had been right, at least this time. _Slow progress but progress none the less._

Peter followed his prompts, but Wade’s dick could only take so much stimulation before he came. After swiping the back of a hand over his lips, Peter stood up and buried his face in his lover’s neck. “Thank you, Daddy.” As they exchanged gentle pecks of affection, he slid his hands under the big man’s shirt to feel the heated skin.

By the time Peter realized he’d resumed following his prompts, he had Wade’s shirt hiked up his chest. Face again hard, the older man flipped his hands palm up: _Your call._ Peter knew without question the scarred ex-merc was suffering through a major mind fuck here. If stripping his lover went well, they’d score a major win against the big man’s dysphoria; if it went poorly, Peter could very well be back to square one. Or worse.

Like an adrenaline junky could pass on a gamble like that.

“Close your eyes and listen to them pant.” Standing behind Wade, Peter fumbled the buttons on his shirt as he cooed encouragement, an effortless switch to his usual dominant role. “You’re safe here. These people may not love you half as much as I do, but the lust is so thick I can smell it. That’s all you, big guy. They don’t see me at all. Only you. Your powerful body. Your pretty muscles. Take a deep hit of those pheromones. Can you smell how much they want you?”

“Mmm, Dom Pedro…” He reached back and pulled Peter in for a kiss. “Missed you.”

Peter hungered for that beatific smile of pure devotion. Instead he stayed in the background. Sweeping Wade’s clothes aside, he grumbled, “You are such an asshole. Keep it up and see what you get.”

“Promises, promises.” Even if Peter couldn’t see that smirk, he could hear it in the challenge.

Peter circled his quarry. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Eyes screwed down tight, Wade flashed the palms up sign again.

Peter’s call. As much as he didn’t want to shoulder the full responsibility for exhibitionism of this magnitude, that tiny little spark of hope left him exactly one option: keep going.

Refusing to entertain his considerable reservations Peter stepped into the harness and buckled it firmly around his hips.

Over the speakers, Wade asked, “Yeah? And what if I just dropped to all fours on stage? You actually gonna use that cock?” On stage Wade knew the answer as he sank to his hands and knees, already tumbling through subspace.

Kneeling behind his lover, Peter applied a generous layer of lube over the phallus and Wade’s quivering rim. Peter took a deep breath as he awaited his cue: “I would, Daddy; I’d just shove right in. Show them how much I like being your boy.” Grip firm on his boyfriend’s hip, Peter breached the bigger man, their actual coupling shielded by his bulk.

With the cling of barbed fingertips at his hip, Wade threw his head back as he forced the fake dick deeper into his body.

“Greedy slut. Such a depraved, needy thing.”

Humping with pure abandon, Wade whimpered in reply.

“Like being on your knees and full of cock?”

“Yes, sir.” Obviously no longer aware of their audience, Wade exposed his throat, his head pulled back so forcefully his bunched shoulders trembled. The ever-wary killer entrusted his wellbeing to his beloved without a single reservation.

Peter lived for this total surrender. If he earned a punishment for topping during bootcamp, then so be it. A hand on each shoulder, he guided the big man up. Back to chest, he secured Wade against him with one arm. The opposite hand pressed firmly just above the collarbones.

“When I say _now_, I want you to open those big brown eyes, count out loud to three, and close them again. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Prepared to subdue a disoriented, angry, and scared Deadpool by force, Peter took a deep breath as he secured his grip on the man, who took no note of the barbs locking them together. “Now.”

“One… Two… Three…” Smooth and easy.

Since Wade remained pliant in his grasp, Peter released his barbs. When the big man whined at the loss, he cooed, “You’ve been so good for me. So very good.” He allowed one hand to spider cling below the vulnerable column of his boyfriend’s neck. “Good boys deserve a treat.” His other hand snaked down Wade’s body, slow and meandering, waiting for the prompt from past Peter.

“I jack you slow and sweet at first, show them how I worship Daddy’s body.”

Muscles so taut they shook, Wade pumped forward into Peter’s fist before shoving back onto the ridiculous cock secured above Peter’s caged equipment. Though familiar, the pain of his arousal spurred him to a rapid gait.

“Mine.” Peter let that proclamation sink in. “So good. So perfect. So patient.”

Wade strained against him, eagerly fucking himself back onto that thick dildo, then forward to ram his cock through the tight ring of Peter’s fingers. In no time he was keening and shaking, every muscle tense.

Peter growled into his ear. “No. Soon. Not yet but soon.”

With a miserable, high-pitched moan, Wade replied, “Thank you, sir.” He let his head fall back on his lover’s shoulder.

Oh, that would never do for what Peter had planned. “Head up. Face forward. My good slut, so perfect for me. Hold back just a little longer.” That pained groan signaled time to roll the dice. “Okay, sweetheart, open your eyes and you can come now.”

In Peter’s anxious grip, that dangerous man jerked and shuddered. Hushed babble enveloped them, a backdrop of soft pornographic moans for Wade’s harsh cry of perfect agony as his come splashed against the floor.

“Holy shit.” Wade slouched into Peter’s embrace, still panting like he’d sprinted a mile.

Careful, Peter worked the thick dildo from his lover’s body. All the while he murmured praise into the big man’s ear. By his estimation, past Peter wouldn’t reach this point for another minute yet. “You okay, Daddy?”

Wade warbled as he forced his body to stand. “’M fine, but you, ya damned evil minx, I oughta tan your hide for that little stunt, right here and now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” In a graceful sweep, Peter bent double and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Please correct your boy for topping during bootcamp.”

With a harsh snort, Wade wrapped a big hand along Peter’s jaw and lifted him to standing. “Oh, no to the hell no, no, you don’t. Daddy will punish you how Daddy sees fit when Daddy is fucking good and ready. Once Daddy no longer thinks he might pass out.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter bit his lip in a futile effort to keep from laughing.

“Meh, a wise guy?” Wade crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “So how far are you willing to go, funny man?”

“Daddy, you can’t seriously intend—”

“The fuck I can’t. Either pineapple or present.”

Peter whined at his choices.

“What, baby boy, you want Daddy to put up the sheet so nobody sees me wring the come outta you until you can barely move?” His laugh held a cruel note. “How ’bout it, my bad boy? Willing to ride Daddy’s cock for the people?”

Legs crossed, glad he never planned on progeny, Peter willed his erection to go down. “Daddy, it hurts; may your boy have something to bite—?”

“Do ya one better.” Wade whipped out the key.

The high squawk that slipped through Peter’s lips left him flustered and hot from his own desperation. “Fuck, Daddy, yes, please, anything to get outta this damned cage right now.”

With a saccharine smile Wade asked, “Anything?”

Leery of that tone, Peter backed up half a step. “Within reason?”

“Present on your knees, bad boy.” Wade gave him a heartbeat to obey before barking out his next order, “Open your mouth.” He petted across his boy’s tongue with two thick fingers, before stilling them between those quivering lips. “Oh, I’m certain Daddy can think of something appropriate. Ready for your punishment fuck, baby boy?”

Peter wheezed out a whimper, the trembling timber nothing shy of pathetic. Soothed by the act of sucking the fingers in his mouth, that salty, earthy flavor grounded him.

Rough, fast, ruinous, Wade ignored Peter’s fantasy as he pushed his boy to the smaller man’s physical limits. Position after position, the older man put him through his paces, never allowing him to sink into the rhythm. Once every muscle burned and every joint ached, Wade hummed with satisfaction. “Looks like you’re ready to start.”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy, for caring enough to correct your bad boy, since he—”

Wade growled low in his chest. He leaned forward, his words for Peter alone. “So damned perfect and precious, you’re killing me.” While Peter suppressed his amusement, the bigger man jerked back, scandalized. “Oh, don’t you dare laugh, baby boy; your ass is nowhere near done paying the price.”

Expression carefully schooled, a decent impersonation of neutral, Peter replied, “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Oh, you will be, baby boy.” Wade snatched a chair from the wing backstage and placed it dead center under the spotlight. He sat, then tapped the inside of his thigh twice. _Come here._ He hummed as he positioned Peter between his legs, doubling him over one thick thigh to grab his ankles.

With no further preamble, a pair of light, fast, open-handed smacks landed low on the curve of Peter’s ass.

Not precisely what Peter expected.

He strained his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the big man’s expression. If not for the audience’s growing unrest, he would have paid no mind as Past Wade asked, “What say you? Should my baby boy get to come?” Past Peter laughed at that question as the recording ended.

In the present Peter’s head dropped. He remained motionless as the crowd’s encouragement grew raucous enough to pound his overly acute senses. The noise died out more quickly than it rose, leaving a lump of dread in the pit of his stomach.

The man surrounding him twisted and leaned. A big hand grasped the nape of his neck and pulled him upright. It slid up before curling into a fist in his hair, the sting both delightful and menacing. That grasp forced him back and down until a huff of breath taunted the shell of his ear.

Unease coiled in Peter’s gut.

Voice only a bit too loud for their proximity Wade cooed in an overly sweet tone, “Didn’t answer when Daddy asked if you’d ride his cock for the people, baby boy.” He pivoted the smaller man’s head to face their onlookers. “So I’ll ask again.” When he paused, dead silence reigned beyond Peter’s thundering heartbeat. “Will my boy ride Daddy’s cock while all those strangers watch Daddy milk him dry?”

Peter managed a squeak, his jaw working but making no further sound. He stopped to swallow, to lick his lips, to paw at the itch just under his eye, chase it across the bridge of his nose.

A pair of hard cracks across his sit spots brought his mind back into focus. “What’s your safe word?” Wade demanded.

“Pineapple,” he whispered, though without hesitation.

Voice warmer, kinder, Wade announced, “Then it’s time to answer Daddy. Are you going to sink that luscious body onto Daddy’s cock?”

The less menacing phrasing loosened Peter’s throat. “Yes, Daddy.”

Gentle hands squared him to face out toward their audience. One tugged him back and down; the other guided his aim. As Wade filled him, those hands moved to his thighs, a silky brush of scarred fingertips, aligning his knees over those of the man who claimed him.

When the ache in his chest drew his attention, Peter forced his lungs to draw a full breath. This numb terror made no sense, yet it held him captive. _Forgot how to breathe_, he realized and again sucked a full draw to chase back the darkness tunneling his sight.

In a crackling grunt Peter fought out a single admission: “Can’t breathe, Daddy.”

“’S okay. I got you, baby boy.”

A familiar press at Peter’s solar plexus relieved him of having to manually control his intake of air. Brain no longer starved for oxygen his assessed his predicament: an eager audience, whose restraint neared the breaking point, sighed along with him as he rocked on Wade’s cock.

A single bell chime, barely a muscle twitch as Peter well knew, broke him from his dread. No one here judged him harshly for allowing them a glimpse of his royally fucked sex life; most adored him and the rest envied him. No longer locked down with fear of scorn and hate for his perversions, he took his first easy breath in several minutes.

“Thank you, Daddy. I’ve got it back under control now.”

“We’re here.” Softer, higher, White’s huff spilled warm across Peter’s neck.

In acknowledgement Peter led one big ham from his hip up to his throat. He pressed those strong fingers under his jaw and hummed gently against them. “So good to me.”

“Petey.” Yellow’s childish and wonder-filled greeting faltered and cracked in his gruff voice.

“So sweet.” Content, pleased, Peter reached back and cupped a hand under the prominence of the big man’s skull. He relaxed as his eyelids fell, shutting him off from the world outside their two bodies. “So perfect for me.”

“Please?” Contorting in a sinuous undulation, he crushed a wrist as he brought one of those hard hands to his aching length. His lover’s caress, that gentle, maddening tease, stirred his unsated desire. “I need.” Twinges and throbs coursed through his abs and down his thighs. “Want you.”

Wade’s chuckle shook his back. “Shh, baby boy, let us make it better.”

After weeks of controlled understimulation, Peter’s hypersensitive cock didn’t require much coaxing. As his essence spilled onto the stage in front of them, Wade never even slowed. Elbows tight to his heaving ribs Peter refrained from fighting off the painful overstimulation by force of will alone.

“There’s more in there, boy; I can feel it.”

In answer to Yellow Peter only managed to gape like a fish. More indeed gathered as his testicles again drew up.

This time the smaller man screamed as he came.

Limp in his lover’s lap he let out a ragged breath, but Wade didn’t stop stroking him while a cruel grip under his jaw compelled him up the length of his lover’s cock.

“You two are taking this too far.” _White. Ever saving a spider in distress._

“But our boy’s so pretty when he cries.”_ Yellow. My sweet yellow box._

“Gorgeous and broken and perfect. But fine, last one.” _Wade. To whom I belong._

A secret and joyful smile quirked Peter’s lips as he nodded that he’d heard them, that he agreed to endure a final peak despite his overwhelmed body. Legs burning he continued the pace that Wade had set, sliding his spent body along the steel inside him. The tight grip on his own overworked member brought a sob to his lips.

Mind blissfully subdued by their madness, body nearing maximum endurance, he allowed the pain even as Wade jerked and twitched inside him. Even so he continued to piston along Peter’s savaged dick.

Sated now, Wade let Peter rest on his thighs. All attention locked onto one straining, raw erection. One more. Come one more time and his lovers would permit him rest.

And the harder he wanted it, the further away it ran. “Can’t. Can’t come again.”

“Don’t you dare, boy. Don’t even think about coming yet. Fight it, boy.”

“Yes, Yellow.” _Did I just screw up by using his name? Like I even fuckin’ care at this point._ Peter bit off his scream of frustration. “Please, Yellow, wanna so bad!”

“Too bad and not bad enough.” The box cackled merrily. “Be patient.”

With an anguished cry, Peter thumped his sweat-slick back against the big man’s chest. “Please!”

“Not yet.”

“PLEASE!”

“Come for us, boy.”

But Peter already was. Drained and spent he crumpled into his lover’s embrace. “Thank you. That was amazing.”

When Peter let his eyes close, he resolved to give exactly zero shits about anything until he’d had a nap.

Then he remembered exactly what he envisioned when Wade said claiming ceremony. Damn, it was now or never, since he didn’t want to outshine whatever insanity Wade planned for his boy’s last encounter with his book club.

Peter tried to hide the way his thighs quivered as he limped to the edge of the stage. “Don’t leave yet. One last thing. Five minutes tops.” Sweaty, bruised, and probably outright filthy, he swallowed down his nerves and pulled himself together. Caressing the chain around his neck, he gazed out over the people who’d come to see him debased and defiled in every way Wade’s fractured mind could imagine. “As you can see, he’s claimed me, but as you might have noticed, that’s not how our usual boring Wednesday goes.”

Sensing Wade’s proximity, he signaled for the big man to stand at his side. “I’ll be right back.” Less than thirty seconds later he draped a red silk robe over the big man, while his own too large robe hung off his shoulders. Once they were relatively decent, he called out, “Diane, bring up the lights. Please and thank you.” He took in the audience at large.

Palm down, Peter lowered his hand, and Wade followed the motion to kneel at his boy’s feet. “Might not have been love at first sight—your reputation preceded you—but I love you, you big ape.” Trembling fingers clutched the second collar in his robe pocket. “I poured over every Ceremony of the Roses and every Handfasting, and none of them do justice to the devotion you’ve given me so freely. The joy in your service when you feed me or bathe me or put me to bed. For all the time you spend keeping our home comfortable, not for yourself—you couldn’t care less—but as a tangible symbol of your pure adoration. The innumerable little things, some that even pass my notice, and you do them every day. And I can’t thank you enough. Could never.”

Peter didn’t give a shit that he was rambling, butchering the words he’d written so carefully and rehearsed a dozen times, but he choked slightly under the sheer weight of how much Wade truly served him, regardless of who was in charge. Unshed tears turned the world to glittering stardust. “You are the most precious to me in this world. Will you wear my collar as a symbol of my devotion to you in return?”

“Yes.” Watery, jaundiced eyes blinked up. “With so much pride.”

“Let these good folks bear witness: I promise that, no matter what the future brings, you will always have a home in my arms and a place in my bed. Always. I don’t care if things turn off bad, horrible, worse than horrible. Always. I will be your safe harbor, to the greatest extent of my ability, for as long as I live.” Peter draped the chain around the bigger man’s neck. “For as long as we both want this relationship, let this collar symbolize my promise to be mindful, respectful, and honest. Sometimes even obedient. When I want to be.” He kissed Wade’s forehead as he twisted the screw until it gripped. A few turns with the allen wrench and he signaled for Wade to stand. “I love you. Madly. Dreadfully. More than words can convey.”

“Oh, better believe I love you.” Even with too much skin exposed under the brilliant prismatic chandeliers, he smiled up at Peter as if he finally, finally trusted the younger man to be, first of all, real, second, truthful, and lastly, under no delusions about his boyfriend.

Peter tapped his breastbone twice, and that giant man materialized in his arms. “For fuck’s sake, take me to a bed, any bed, and don’t wake me for anything. If the room is on fire, be careful not to jostle me as you carry me out.”

Sweeping Peter off his feet, Wade chuckled, deep and evil. “You precious cinnamon roll. Boot camp always gets worse.”

“If I don’t get four continuous hours of sleep, I will go Full Metal Jacket with Yellow karaoke.”

“Okay, well, four hours it is then.”

“Right. Otherwise: murder-suicide by soulless white music from the early sixties.”

Wade shivered in mock terror as he strutted from the room. “Yes, master. Four hours, master.”

“Fuck you, Wade; I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know, baby boy.” He pressed his infuriating smirk to Peter’s hairline for a kiss. “Good thing tomorrow is chore day. Particularly since I now owe you a punishment spanking.”

Peter groaned and flashed him a one-finger salute. “Love you anyway, asshole.”

“Yeah.” With a fond grin he smushed Peter’s face between his sweat-slimed pecs. “But I’m your asshole.”


	24. Day 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wood buffing chapter...

Gazing with longing at the blankets Peter blinked incredulously at his tempestuous lover. “You have got to be kidding me. After all of that?”

“Plainspoken paleface, Petey-pie, we’s got a wee bit of fap roulette and a beddy-bye spanking to attend to before you can sleep.”

Eyes squeezed tight as he wavered on his feet, he grumbled, “Yellow, remember when I said it was okay to hurt people if it could save a life? Would you please sing ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree’ until Wade comes to his senses?”

“Hum the first note, and Sunday Funday’s cancel—” Wade winced, dipping his head while raising his shoulders. “Ow, shit, just ignore the spid—ow, asshole, quit that! I know we can’t ignore Spideykins for long but—”

The crook of his elbow failed to shield Peter from his boyfriend’s antics. “’M not getting any sleep either way, am I?” He made a mental note to make his beloved pay for this, sometime after a good rest.

“Ow! What the hell, White; don’t help!” Swearing, the ex-merc swatted overhead.

Petulant the younger man might have smacked his lover with a pillow hard enough to rip the luxuriously thick cover and knock the giant asshole sprawling to the plush, aquamarine carpet. “Wade, if you have any shred of self-preservation, you will reconsider this.”

The ex-merc crossed his arms and glowered up at his beloved. “One, that’s Daddy to you, baby boy. Two, how do you expect to become a sex marine if you never push your limits? Three, you’ll bitch in the morning if I don’t get you showered off before you fall asleep. And four, the only point that matters, I don’t hear a pineapple—just your usual threats of severe bodily harm. Thought we’d established that Deadpool don’t negotiate with arachnoterrorists, regardless of how perfect their little bubble butt might be.” He made pinchy fingers as he flashed that shit-eating grin.

Peter rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath. While he massaged his triceps, torn from being the tiniest bit overzealous with the pillow, he debated the fastest path to dreamland. “Ten minutes. I’ll give you ten minutes. After that I’ll not be held responsible for my actions or Yellow’s musical library.”

Head cocked to one side, the older man listened to the boxes for a moment. “Fifteen. Just in case.”

“Fine.” Peter firmly assured himself he could do anything for fifteen minutes, though he did add, “Oh, and fuck you, Wade.”

“Mmm, ’m gonna enjoy that tomorrow.” The big man plopped onto the edge of the bed. “Come lay across Daddy’s lap and let him take care of everything for you, baby boy.”

If Peter crawled into position with an overtly cuddly vibe, Wade didn’t mention it. However he did pause to work the tension from the smaller man’s abused body. “I don’t think you’re gonna survive this spanking.” He prodded a bruise before squeezing along Peter’s thighs. “Such a cruel, harsh beating, my poor baby spiderling.”

When Wade switched positions to sit on Peter’s ass and rub his shoulders, he moaned in delight, far too exhausted to do anything more than accept the affection. Slipping from the waking world, his overworked muscles turned pliable in his lover’s big hands.

“Roll over, boy.”

A soft joy firmly ensconced under his ribs, Peter obeyed lazily. “Hey, Yellow.”

“Your Daddy says I gotta be real gentle.”

“Mmm, I’m enjoying it. Thank you.”

With a languid stretch, he again settled over his lover’s thighs, spent cock front and center. Heartbeat slow in his chest, he let his eyelids fall. Slow, slick hands tugged his flaccid length. Drifting from consciousness, he felt more than heard the snick of his cage being locked.

“Hands and knees, Peter.”

He pulled himself upright. “Yes, White.” Before shifting from the bigger man’s lap, he peppered his lover’s face with feather-light kisses. His willpower faltered as his body protested, but he managed to get his ass in the air, which seemed to be adequate since White plugged him, then stretched out flat on his back, tapping his side for Peter to lie next to him.

“Good boy. We have such a good boy,” one of them cooed, though Peter wasn’t awake enough to decide which.

“Thank you,” Peter mumbled, adding, “Good night, Daddy, Yellow, White.”

“G’nite, baby boy.” Wade shook with a laugh. “Guess you’re skipping that shower.”

Mind blank and content, a deep slumber overtook Peter the instant he stilled, his dreams little more than a lava lamp of ever shifting sensations: molten color, numb relaxation, white noise.

***

The sun hung high in the smoggy sky as they reached their apartment building.

“All ’m saying, my little pomegranate of love, is you should at least think about it.”

“We’re not moving to Barbados. Nor Hawaii. Nor Fiji. Not even Coney Island.”

“But Petey-pie, tropical paradise. The name says it all. When we get shipwrecked, you can be the professor, and I’ll be Mary Ann.” The big man bounced on the balls of his feet as he clapped in excitement.

Peter stopped at the entrance to their building, kissed him on the nose. “You can be a farm girl right here in the city.”

“But it’s just not the same without the coconuts.” Wade folded his arms over his chest in an exaggerated pout.

“Believe it or not, you can also buy coconuts at the bodega, three streets that-a-way.” Peter pointed back the direction they’d come, even as he opened the door.

“But just the little ones. Not the really nice ones, fresh offa the tree.”

Peter couldn’t help his laugh at the whine in his boyfriend’s voice. “Order a box off the internet if it’s that important to you.” Then he remembered Wade’s rendition of the potholder incident in another universe—every single potholder on Amazon, the tower's ducts overflowing at the seams. “Or bring a few home next time SHIELD sends you to one of those tropical paradises,” he suggested hastily, hoping the word _few_ sank into the older man’s consciousness.

Wade didn’t reply as they climbed the stairs, but once they emerged into the hall, he muttered, “It’s never as much fun without you, baby boy.” Big arms engulfed Peter. “If I could crawl up your ass and just stay there—”

“But it’s really uncomfortable when a merc takes up permanent lodging in my sigmoid colon,” Peter groused, more serious in his complaint than he intended. Maybe he did need to spend more time with people who weren’t Wade. But they could discuss that later. Right now, Peter had chores waiting on him.

A deliciously inhuman growl rumbled low in Wade’s chest. “Who’s been squatting in my boy’s perfect booty? It was Stingray, wasn’t it? He doesn’t need air. I always knew there was something off about that merc. I mean, I presumed he was a spy for Spangles, but if he laid a finger on my baby boy’s virtue—”

“Pretty sure my virtue died at your hands, big guy.” The instant Peter stepped over the threshold, he toed off his shoes while tugging his shirt over his head, even before Wade closed the door. “So what’s on today’s agenda?”

“I’ve got a few good ideas of how to keep my baby boy occupied.” Wade leered as he ran his tongue over a pearly canine, and Peter could all but feel it sink into the flesh where his shoulder met his neck. “But Daddy’s got a few things he’s gotta do.”

“That’s… unexpected.” _Disappointing._ The younger man slipped off his pants, then tossed his clothes into the washer.

“Not even the Spanish Inquisition expects Foxy Peter and a floor buffer.”

“Hmph, it was Colonial Mustard in the library with the candlestick.”

“Ears and tail are on the bed. Instruction manual is on the counter beside a bottle of wax.” With a hand buried in Peter’s hair, Wade pulled him closer for a rough, heated kiss, a nipping and stinging clash that teased Peter’s lust to life. “But first I want to see you in agony, right on the edge, eyes wet and pleading, begging to come.” A shiver coursed through that big, scarred body even as the plug pulsed inside his lover. “Want you to absolutely loathe every second until I get back.”

“Already do.” Heat crept across Peter’s face. “Yes, Daddy.”

Smirking the entire time, Wade unlocked his cage. “Oh, he’d best get to work teasing himself into a frenzy. Hate for our boy to earn another punishment already. Those two this morning looked like they hurt. Poor thighs so hot to the touch. Such big, gorgeous tears.” He groaned, palming himself through his pants. “White and Yellow agree: you were so unimaginably pretty as you sobbed for us. We could hardly keep our cock to ourself.”

Peter smiled at that, a gentle happiness settling in his chest. “You didn’t have to; I never mind your cock.” He took Wade’s hand, held it to his face as he dropped to his knees. “Let me taste you first?” He nuzzled into his lover’s touch.

Beyond amused, beyond indulgent, Wade laughed down at him. “Your wish, baby boy.” He gestured to his crotch. “Be our guest.”

Muscles and flesh sore from weeks of hard use, Peter worked Wade’s pants open with deliberate languor. In no hurry to allow Wade to leave, he took his time as he wrapped his tongue along the heated flesh, as he worked up a pearlescent bead at the tip, as he lapped up that single salty drop.

Wade nudged him back, the touch feather light and gentler than their usual frenzied affection. “Much as I’m lovin’ every second of this, it’s time to show Daddy your agony face, Petey-pie.”

Peter leaned back. Once his shoulders reached the floor, he swiveled his legs from under him. “Like this?” he asked as he teased along his cock.

“I always like it when you’re playing the fuck-bunny.” The scars around Wade’s eyes puckered with his amusement.

“Playing?” Peter gasped in dramatic outrage, stroking his erection with flare as his lover watched in fascination.

“Dammit, boy, this is supposed to torture you, not us.” Still Yellow licked his lips, mesmerized by the younger man at his feet.

“Risk you take.” Peter huffed those words between soft grunts as his body responded to the hand he snugged around his leaking cock. Head back, he moaned in need. “Like this, Daddy?” he asked again, simply to ensure Wade wasn’t missing a moment of his desperation.

“Fuck.”

Wade needed to say no more. Peter knew he’d brought his owner’s fantasy to life. Through lips parted for ragged breaths, he asked, “Please, Daddy, may your good boy come now?”

“Fuck.”

Peter had the deadly ex-merc precisely where he wanted the man. Whimpering against the very real pain of his arousal, he pulled his hand back to keep from taking himself over the precipice. “Please, Daddy, wanna come so bad. Please!”

“Don’t do it, Peter,” White warned, no doubt in a panic over some bloody horror that Wade and Yellow were dreaming up while the smaller man writhed below them, his heart wedged in his throat and heat pooling between his legs.

“Yes, White.” Peter pulled himself together enough to blink demurely up at his lover as he continued to tease along his shaft. “I’ll be such a good boy.” Eyes still dry, he allowed himself a moment’s reprieve to simply catch his breath. Then he resumed the tease, repeatedly bringing his body to the brink until tears of frustration blurred his gaze. “Please, Daddy, let me come now. Pretty please? Wanna come so bad.”

A faint whine bled from Wade. Jaw slack and lips parted, he barely dared to pull fresh air into lungs that obviously had to burn by now. “Not yet.” The words slurred, breathless, and he swallowed thickly.

“So mean.” Peter pushed his lip out into a pout as another tide of agony swamped his mind. “Such an evil, wicked Daddy.”

Stupefied, a tremor ran through the big man, culminating an all-over shake that roused him from his fever-dreams of debasing his lover. “Oh, you are a fuck-bunny, baby boy, through and through. Pure, unadulterated sex on feet.”

Peter let out a low, dark chuckle as he rose into a crouch. “That’s your favorite part…” He climbed his boyfriend in a heartbeat, couldn’t help himself. “…the way my appetites stack up so nicely against your own.” Legs locked around the ex-merc’s chest, he fought off the urge to toss his lover across the room, rip away his clothing, and fuck him into the floor without mercy. “But I’m your good boy. No topping during bootcamp. No breaking you down and taking you like I own you.”

Caressing his collar, Peter soaked up the grounding sensation, like being anchored in a safe harbor. He leaned in to whisper, “Because you’ve got me. I’m yours. All yours. You own me, and I’ll never walk free of you again. I could never even want freedom again.” The admission felt good, freeing ironically enough. Between the truth in his words and the gasping adoration of his lover, a sensation of power and control swept through Peter’s mind. “Only fair, I suppose, since I own you, heart, mind, and soul.” He pressed a thumb to Wade’s lips.

“Ye—” Wade’s voice choked off. He licked the barb-textured thumb before he tried again. “Yeah, fair.”

Untwining from his lover, Peter reined in his desires, nothing short of a Herculean effort. In his mind’s eye, he cracked a backhand across the big man’s face, leaving him awed and begging for more. “Just another week, Daddy, and I swear I’ll make you hurt so beautifully, take you straight to my limits. You’ve been so good to me, so good for me. Shined a light in all those dark recesses. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Wade sagged against him. “Thank you.” The hoarseness of that croak told Peter more than the words. His little slip left the older man feeling secure, safe. Another irony.

“Mmm, so may your boy go get dressed for his chores, or would you like more agony first?”

“Oh, there’s going to be more agony, but for now go wait in your corner.” A smug satisfaction settled along the older man’s visage as he denied his boy’s false dichotomy. Each puckered and marled scar pulled taut to the lines of his smirk, begging to be traced with adoration.

“Please, Daddy, may your boy have a kiss before he goes?”

Humming indulgently, Wade leaned down and pressed his lips to the smaller man’s, too chaste, too brief, and too damned gentle. “Now off with you.” He emphasized his command with a swat of fire along his boyfriend’s backside.

As he made his way across the cluttered room Peter rubbed the stinging mark, not so much to ease the pain but to direct Wade’s attention to his own handprint curving over his boy’s ass. “Such a mean Daddy.” He bit his tongue, as that cut a bit too close to infantilization for his tastes. Dammit, forget the squick; he’d fought too hard and too long to be taken seriously. “I love the ways you hurt me,” he said in rejection of his bratty grouse from a moment before.

“And I love the ways you hurt for me.” Wade’s rumble lacked the vicious edge Peter expected, and he glanced over his shoulder to find the bigger man lifting the fox ears and tail from the foot of the bed, apparently the nearest thing to clothing Peter would be allowed today. “Drenched in want—how you could want me, I still don’t get—but it’s undeniable, irresistible.”

When the plug inside him stilled, Peter let out a quiet whimper into the corner.

One big hand slid the headband with the ears into place. “Bend over.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Patient, Wade worked the plug from Peter’s body. A stretch and sting preceded the swish of fur against the backs of his legs.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Wade cooed, “Would you _like_ me to refresh the sting in your thighs?”

_Yes._ At war with his ego, Peter groaned under the strain.

“Alrighty then, I’ll just leave you to it. Head out and get my day started…”

Stomach somersaulting, Peter managed to wheeze out, “Please, Daddy.”

“Yes, sweetie Petey?” Wade twisted the mental blade with the same absolute mastery as he wielded his katanas.

“Please…” Peter choked off in a sob, humiliated by his own warped desires.

Sidled up snug to the smaller man’s back, Wade spoke into his flesh: “Use your words.” He placed a kiss at the hairline. “Would _like_ me to spank those luscious thighs until they are hot and stingy again.”

Choking on the spit that thickened in his throat, Peter croaked, “Yes, Daddy. Please.”

“Please, what?” His grin stretched against the smaller man’s neck. “What would you like, Daddy’s little honey pot of heavenly delights?”

Between mortified blubs, Peter roused himself to admit, “I’d like… my thighs… spanked.”

He wilted against the corner, utterly appalled by how very much he wanted his lover to hurt him for the umpteenth time today. Bruised and battered, he still yearned so strongly he’d beg. Crawl and plead. Debase himself however his lover asked. Anything for more of the savage fire Wade stoked across his flesh and through his soul. All logic said he should be willing to embrace any degradation to avoid further misery, literal torture. Disgusted, Peter had never felt more out of control.

“That’s it. Bawl it out. Whenever you’re ready, come ask Daddy to spank you.” Wade ran soothing hands down his boy’s upper arms. “You can stay in the corner until you’re calm. If that’s what you want.” Slowly, the warmth of his bulk pulled away from the crying man. “Take all the time you need, baby boy.”

Peter’s pulse pounded through his veins, hot and wretched, stomach lurching as he sobbed. Minutes passed in pure desolation. He let his arms drop to his sides, hugging himself tightly against the onslaught of self-recriminations.

When he’d finally settled down, he turned, intent to lie in the bed for a moment as he gathered his wits. Instead he found Wade sitting against the headboard, his attention riveted on the smaller man. “Daddy, can I have just another second to catch my breath?”

“Whatever you need.” The ex-merc patted the bed beside him. “C’mere.”

Humming in his relief, Peter crawled into the bed and curled up beside his lover. A fingertip brushed over his lip before pressing into his mouth, and he sucked quietly, letting the act soothe his ragged nerves.

Safe. Peter was safe and wanted and loved.

No matter how deep he sank into the depravity they shared, Wade remained steadfast at his side. One of the few who could possibly withstand the grueling physical and emotional turmoil of Peter’s life. He resented the horrors Wade endured, but every scar provided testament that a half-second lapse in judgment wouldn’t end in Peter scourging his soul for another precious life irretrievably lost to his own weakness.

Despite his awareness of the sheer shittiness of the thought, Peter couldn’t help but feel relieved by that sure knowledge.

Where was his damned mantra when he needed it?

“You were … magnificent. Absolutely fuckin’ magnificent. Yellow is catatonic, just rocking in place, completely overwhelmed.”

With no other choice, Peter hummed his pleasure at the praise.

“’M so fuckin’ hard it hurts.”

Blinking through his lashes, he regarded the bigger man’s lust-blown expression. _Let me make you feel good, Daddy._ He stretched out his neck and mewled around the finger, offering himself in whatever way might please.

“Excellent suggestion.” Wade guided his boy’s lips to his groin before using both hands to pull his cock free. “Suck.”

Bent double, Peter wrapped his lips around his lover’s erection. A hand on the back of his head urged him lower until he swallowed down every inch. The big man rolled his hips, fucking into Peter’s mouth. Murmurs of encouragement and adoration settled around him, a welcome comfort.

Peter didn’t bother with anything fancy, easing his lover’s desires with practiced efficiency.

Wade’s rhythmic thrusts turned jerky as he painted his boy’s mouth with his essence. Content Peter curled tight against him, unwilling to release his boyfriend’s cock of his own volition. Eyes closed he flicked his tongue lazily along the oversensitized underside of the big man’s shaft.

And Wade let him. Watched him, as Peter could feel the man’s gaze against his skin.

“Big mood today, baby boy?”

_Can’t talk, cock in mouth._

However, Peter hummed his agreement, happy to take another moment before asking Wade to hurt him. Again. Oh, and Peter would ask. He’d beg if necessary. But for this tiny sliver of time, he held onto his lover’s spent cock like a precious treasure, the fulfilled promise of the ex-merc’s indulgence of the younger man’s desires.

Dom Peter made for a selfish lover, but Wade’s boy gladly offered every joy until his cup ran empty. Always as much one thing as its polar opposite, for another week Peter would give and his lover would take. Lovers? _Semantics are irrelevant._ The boxes formed a core part of Wade, and Peter devoted himself to their pleasure as well, glad that happy boxes made for more bearable passengers in Wade’s chaotic mind.

So Peter didn’t hesitate to resume oral ministrations when Yellow tangled a fist in Peter’s hair and jerked him back to dick sucking in earnest.

“Don’t care. I’m staying here with Petey.” Yellow punctuated his declaration with an offended huff. “Then I’m sure you two can handle it… Shoulda thought of that before you let the boy wrap those perfect lips around our scarred-up fuck nozzle.”

When Peter cracked a grin around his lover’s hardening erection, spit escaped to run down his chin. Now a messy blowjob with squelching sound effects, he fought down the urge to cackle at the sheer ridiculousness of life—that would only make a bigger mess.

Less content with passively allowing the younger man to pleasure him, Yellow kept his fist tight in Peter’s hair, guiding the pace and occasionally cutting off his air, always giggling before allowing his boy to breathe again. “Love how you choke so sweet. Fuck I think that’s my favorite part.” Voice gruff, he was aged up, not that the observation meant much, beyond how well Peter had learned the boxes’ quirks.

Panting hard, Yellow came down his throat with a growl.

As unwilling as the smaller man was to release his prize, Yellow proved equally adamant in keeping control of his boyfriend with that handful of hair. Minutes passed before the grip gentled into a petting motion.

“Mind if I take a raincheck?” one asked, presumably White.

“Nunn-nnn,” Peter hummed around the flaccid cock in his mouth. _No, I don’t mind, but no, please let me satisfy you now._

White didn’t pull away, still brushing his fingers through the dark curls as if he feared their boy might break. Touch gentle, reverent even, he smoothed the hair from the younger man’s forehead.

A promising moment to break out the creative tongue work, Peter swirled it under the head with each vigorous bob. With their eager boyfriend showing off his skills, White didn’t last long, regardless of the earlier releases from their body.

Sated after swallowing the third load, Peter kissed his way up the big man. He nuzzled into the side of his lover’s neck. “Love you.”

“Oh, foxy Peter, I love you too much. Far, far too much.”

The sadness of White words drew Peter’s attention to his face: damp eyes half-lidded, open sore on the trembling lower lip, cheeks flushed ruddy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my sweet vixen. You aren’t the only one with the big feels around here.”

When White pushed away, unwilling to answer any further inquiries, Peter let it happen, certain any efforts to force information from the box would only damage his trust in their boyfriend. “I hope you talk to me one day. I hate being shut out.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

“Yeah, yeah, respecting your boundaries. I may gotta do it, but I don’t gotta like it.” He let out a small sigh. “Will one of you spank me so my tail has fresh fire to brush over?” The question he’d dreaded came out so easily, but he could feel insecurities lurking in his subconscious, waiting to pounce should he give them a chance.

For a moment the body under him went unnaturally still. _No one driving the bus._

”Bring me Peter’s Punishment Paddle™ and put those glorious thighs in Daddy’s lap.” Wade motioned for him to get moving.

Peter pulled the paddle from Wade’s overnight bag for his fifth spanking before noon, one he requested instead of earned. He estimated a hundred fifteen spankings in total with fifty-four-and-a-third strokes per paddling on average. “Jiminy Cricket, that’s a lot. Like over six thousand strokes with a paddle, a lot. No wonder I feel a little emotional.”

He bit his lip as he handed the paddle to his beloved. “Please, Daddy, will you heat up my thighs?” Oh, that’s where he left the tears. The first two broke free and rolled down his cheeks in tandem.

After a strangled moan, Wade watched in silence as Peter arranged his thighs in easy reach of the big man’s cruel attention. An outsized hand pressed firm at the small of the younger man’s back. “Mngh.” Following that failure of sensate discussion, he abandoned the idea, instead landing the paddle across both sit spots, hard enough to grab his boy’s attention but not quite enough to make him protest.

As Peter grunted against each strike, the agony deepened. He hated this, wanted to be floating in subspace where pain only existed as an idea. Instead it filled his reality with sharp edges. “Please, Daddy—” Peter bit off his plea, disgusted with his own weakness.

Those big hands stilled, though the fire remained. “What’s that, baby boy?”

“Let my…” Peter swallowed, fighting to make the words go. “Please, Daddy, let my endorphins catch up. It hurts so much.”

“We can do that, pretty Petey.” Wade blotted a tear from his boy’s cheek. “Such a good boy.”

After barking out a harsh laugh at the way those words instantly eased the pressure in his chest, Peter cooed, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“This one’s for your pleasure, baby boy. Just let us know when you’re ready for more, and we’ll take it slower.” The ex-merc sighed as he wrapped a hand around the back of his lover’s knee, running the thumb over the creases in a rhythmic kneading. “You made an amazing cock sleeve for Daddy. Felt so good being in your warm, wet mouth.”

Thinking of the way Wade’s cock sat heavy on his tongue, nudged down his throat, Peter hummed softly in reply. “I’m ready, Daddy.” The next hit landed at half-power, and Peter sighed his contentment as he settled into his position across Wade’s lap. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Loose limbed and relaxed in sub space, Peter barely noted when Wade slipped from under him. “Enjoy your nap but get your work done. I’ll be back around five, give or take.”

Peter jolted awake at ten til two, alone in his own bed, thighs mostly healed. He couldn’t remember what Wade said before he left, but thankfully the ex-merc left a Hello Kitty post-it on the fridge: “See ya around 5. Love, Daddy.” Peter chuckled at the chibi Deadpool riding Sparkles. The next one read: “No cage, so be a good boy for Daddy. No touchie.”

While downing a quick sandwich, Peter skimmed the manual for instructions and warnings. He noted a infinitesimal reflection from the bookshelf and grinned to himself. _Cameras. So that’s how it’s going to be? Okay then._ While he puttered around waiting for the caffeine to kick in, he counted three more in the living room alone, which he studiously avoided looking directly into.

Peter started chore day by cleaning the wood floor of the dining area in the living room, making sure to wriggle his tail toward one of the cameras as often as possible. A couple of times, not quite facing a camera, he ran his hands down his chest and belly, stopping just shy of his aching cock, maybe adding a few whines and thrusts. For theatrics. Not like he was literally dying of horniness.

Oh, crap, he was literally going to die of horniness. He could just imagine his tombstone: _Here lies Peter Parker. Be forewarned: he died of orgasm denial during sex games. Do not follow his example. _So much for dying a hero.

Once Peter put the table back to rights, he noticed a text alert blinking on his phone: _Show Daddy that agony face again._

After making his way to the bed, Peter texted back: _What about no touchie?_

_No touchie unless dd says so.  
N dd says so.  
Right to the edge, bb._

_Video?_

_Mmm, yeah, sounds good._

_Want me to use my phone?  
Or you good with the cameras you set up while I was asleep?_

_…U noticed that?_

_I always notice everything.  
Though I don’t always mention it.  
Something to keep in mind._

_Yeah, but ull use ur phone?_

_Yes, I’ll prop up my phone… Asshole._

_Mmm, yeha, savin that tho.  
Fap now; asshole later._

_Yes, Daddy._

That was a slight exaggeration; Peter noticed _almost_ everything. And he now noticed a distinct decline in Wade filming his struggles. Which meant this was definitely not the first time the ex-merc had set up cameras. He trusted Wade with the footage, but how much had the perv recorded to enjoy again later?

_All of it_, Peter concluded.

With his phone set against a pillow so it transmitted a view of his hips and junk, Peter again ran his hands down his body, stopping just shy of his goal. If Peter were going to die of being teased, the least he could do was return the favor.

Over the speakers, Wade gasped.

_Yeah, that’s right; keep watching._

Peter stroked lightly along his erection. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

“Ngh, show me your face. I can see your cock on the other cameras, but I wanna see your face close up.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter rearranged the camera. With his profile in view, his tease grew to torment. He bit his lip and moaned raggedly. “Please…” The word came out small and urgent.

“Not yet, baby boy. Five’s not so far off.”

“Yes, Daddy.” In anguish he panted through his teeth. Once the first tears broke free, he asked, “Is that enough?”

“Just a little more, baby.”

Peter had to stop, catch his breath. Once he’d calmed enough to keep from jizzing with a simple brush of his fingertips, he resumed stroking himself. His pants gave way to whines that grew louder as his eruption grew near.

“Shh. That’s good. That’s enough.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Peter groaned between sobs.

“Back to work, baby boy, and Daddy’ll be home before you know it.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter swiped the back of his hand under his nose, effectively smearing the wetness instead of blotting it away.

“You’re amazing.”

“Love you too.” Peter ended the call, then flopped flat on the bed. “That man’s gonna kill me yet.”

***

Peter squirted liquid wax over the last section, and good thing too, since it was a quarter to five already. His hands vibrated to the rhythm of the buffer even before he turned it on. Forward, back, forward, back…

Dead? The buffer can’t be dead. Peter turned it off and turned it back on. Great, prob’ly a fuse. He glanced back to see if he’d pulled the plug from the wall.

Mask on, Deadpool stood, arms crossed and propped against the wall on one leg. With the cord in his hand, his smirk spread, visible through the spandex. “Poor baby, I know those thighs were nice and pink when I left, but I bet they were cold by the time you got up.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Heat raced across Peter’s cheeks and spread down his chest.

“I'mma let you finish, but Deadpool has had one of the greatest days of all time.”

“Seriously, Wade? Kanye West interrupting Taylor Swift at the VMA’s?”

“You didn’t see yourself, baby boy, sobbing with want. It was glorious.” He fumbled for his phone.

“Can that wait until ’m done, Daddy?”

“Sure, baby boy. Just gonna stand here and watch. If that’s alright by you.”

“If it wasn’t alright, your cameras would be down the garbage disposal by now.”

“Touché, my little pumpkin eater.”

Peter shoved the plug back into the socket and returned to finishing the last section of hardwood flooring. When he switched the machine off, before he could even turn around, Wade grabbed him around the ribs and lifted him into the big man’s arms. Gasping and giggling, Peter let the big man carry him to the bedroom and throw him onto the rumpled covers.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Don’t you _Hi, Daddy_ me, baby boy. Someone touched himself.”

“But Daddy you told me to. And you told me you’d never tell me to do something you’d punish me for doing. Even though I offered.”

The edges of Wade’s lips barely quirked. “Oh, I do love that big beautiful brain of yours.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Peter opened his legs, displaying his raging erection to his lover. “Please, Daddy?”

“Watch yourself.” Whether that were a warning or a command, Peter couldn’t tell since Wade propped his phone where Peter’s had been earlier in the day.

On the screen, a rosy cock twitched as thin fingers pulled back without touching it. Transfixed, Peter indeed watched himself stroke his cock, heard himself moaning and pleading, saw the pain lining his face as he edged himself beyond the limits of his tolerance.

As the video call ended, Wade repeated, “Still amazing.”

Wet heat enveloped Peter’s erection, and he whimpered, pitiful in his need. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” A hefty forearm held his hips to the mattress as his lover bobbed along his length. He screamed as he came, his lover watching the spurts of his ruined orgasm spilling onto his abdomen. “Thank you, daddy,” he gasped one last time.

“Do you want Daddy to warm those thighs again before you cook dinner?”

“Seriously? Do I seriously have to ask again?”

“Only if you want me to bring the fire in those thighs to life so you can feel the tail swish across them. Daddy’ll make it quick and stingy this time, so you aren’t tempted to either fall asleep or pineapple.”

Eyes prickling, Peter glared at the floor. “Please, Daddy, will you spank me again?”

“Ask for your correction, baby boy.”

Peter blinked up in relief at his lover. “Thank you, Daddy. Will you remind your boy to be mindful, honest, respectful, and obedient?”

“Go fetch your paddle and meet me at your chair.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

***

Fur across stinging thighs proved worth every bit of the pain. Dinner and a movie became a squirming affair, much to Wade’s delight. He allowed the smaller man to have usual hardware for his patrol. Afterward, Peter asked for his last correction of the day.

“Sixty-nine.” Wade cackled like a madman.

“Yes, r-d-r-r, sixty-nine corrections. Plus another forty or fifty punishment and amusement spankings.”

“That’s a calculus joke, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Wade.”

“Un-uh-uh, yes, who, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“’S what I thought.” He pulled Peter into his lap and proceeded to spank him barehanded until the smaller man was a sobbing mess. “There now. Go stand in the corner until the timer goes off. Then come and find me for fap roulette.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Fat tears dropped from Peter’s jaw to the floor as he made his way to the corner. They slowed as he waited the timer, but his tears never seemed to run dry. In reality, Wade had conditioned him to cry, and Peter wasn’t certain how to feel about that. On one hand, the bigger man and his boxes loved the overt show of pain; on the other, Spiderman couldn’t sob every time he got injured. If he had to choose one, Peter would please his lover.

A year ago, he would have been annoyed by that fact.

Today he gripped his collar and enjoyed his sense of belonging.


	25. Day 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White's Secret
> 
> PS: No cliffhanger. Because I love you and I hate them.

Peter stepped out of the shower Wednesday morning to find his lover propped against the door. He wrapped a towel around himself before blinking in curiosity at the imposing man between him and the exit.

In the haze, one hand made a flourish. “Abra-ca-pocus.” White held a straight razor open in the steamy bathroom, the glint fuzzy from the damp.

“Nifty trick.” Peter licked his lips, a bit nervous if he allowed himself to admit that fact.

“Always keep one up my sleeve for emergencies.” White flashed his teeth in a manic grin that left Peter’s stomach unsettled.

He pulled a strop of leather taut with one hand, the other end secured to his beltloop. With green abrasive paste smeared over the surface, he ran the blade over the thick, supple hide with a practiced hand.

“So what’s the emergency?” Peter asked.

“No emergency, just an offer: would you like to experience a real shave, Peter?” He waved his other hand in mirror-reverse of the earlier flourish, producing a red balloon. Taking a boar brush from a mug on the counter, he smoothed a thick lather over the latex. He dropped the brush back into the mug. Without looking, he swiped the blade in deft strokes to remove the lather from the balloon, never nicking the surface and leaving the latex perfectly clean of lather. “It’s like nothing else.” He slashed the blade into the balloon, which instantly popped.

“That was terrifying.” Peter didn’t approach, but he also didn’t scramble for the door.

White chuckled, the soft laugh reverberating off the tile. “I won’t cut you, Peter. Sit on the lid of the toilet, and I’ll give you the most luxurious shave you’ve ever known.”

“Okay…” Peter did as he was told, but he still felt his heart jackhammering against his ribs.

White rapped his knuckle against the counter: _Shave and a haircut._

_Two bits_, Peter knocked in reply. That tiny scrap of shared knowledge reminded Peter of their camaraderie, and his muscles unknotted. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure as always, you darling little strumpet. Check it: damp soap is slicker than any shave cream.” Mug in one hand, brush in the other, he smeared lather over Peter’s steamed face. “You are the most perfect little sex toy a box could ever wish for.”

“Oh?” Peter kept his face neutral as the blade nestled at his throat.

“And so much more, of course.” With a flick of a wrist, the razor cleared a line of stubble. In a practiced double motion, White wiped both sides of the blade on a towel draped over his forearm.

The rhythmic wisk and barely-there snick made Peter sigh as trust bloomed large in his chest. Turning only as White urged, Peter allowed the deadly steel to pass over his Adam’s apple, work around the rest of his neck, and move to his chin.

“My favorite part.” White cackled as he swiped under Peter’s nose. He made two more swipes, clearing the smaller man’s cheeks and chops. “There. All done.” He blotted any remaining foam with a clean, damp towel. “That is a shave a man could be proud of.”

Peter grinned up at White. “You are as much a cheeseball as the others.”

“Indeed. Just I’m colby and they’re cheddar.”

“Indeed.” Peter snorted at the formality. “Now may I get dressed for work?”

“Why certainly.” White cracked the bathroom door, allowing the steam to escape. “Wouldn’t want you to be late to your gainful employment with the Iron Dildo, after all.”

“Of course not.”

***

When Peter shut down his lab for the night, FRIDAY offered another snippet of Madcap, this from a taping with sensationalist reporter Dollar Bill. The reel had been riveting until he heard the familiar words, “cosmic banana peel.”

The truth settled into his bones, as undeniable as any fact he’d ever discovered: White was Madcap. And if White were this afraid of the truth becoming known, then Wade certainly had some way of separating them. And if White were no longer in Wade’s body, then he’d not be allowed access to Peter. The entire issue made a certain amount of sense on White’s part—Madcap’s part.

Peter opened the door and let himself into their apartment.

“Ah, my raison d’être.”

Peter mumbled, the words miserable on his tongue, “I know who you are.”

“…A matter of time really.” His lover’s body sighed in defeat.

“I can’t keep this from him.”

“I’ve known that all along as well.” A familiar hand lifted his face so their eyes met. “But can we take one last evening together? A final moment of passion to last me the rest of eternity.”

Peter nodded against the grip on his chin, his barely-there five-o’clock shadow extra sharp from the close shave that morning. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.” He sniffled softly against the rising tide of anguish in his chest. “I never wanted it to end this way.”

“I know that, my sweet vixen. Yet there was never any other option. Our time together was always going to end exactly like this.”

Again Peter nodded. Fate had a cruel way of conspiring against him. That old Parker luck. Losing White would break his heart, and Wade and Yellow would find that a betrayal they couldn’t overlook. A squeak of misery escaped his lips. “I’m going to lose all of you.”

“No. Those idiots adore you. I adore you.”

The comforting words didn’t staunch the flow of tears as Peter collapsed into his lover’s arms. “How long will it be?”

“I expect Wade will want to wait until the end of bootcamp. After that, maybe a day. Maybe two.”

“Wade has poly—”

“After the things I’ve done to him? No, Peter, I don’t imagine he’d be anywhere near that forgiving. Let it be. I couldn’t help myself. I knew. And I still let you love me, and if you have to hate someone for breaking your heart, hate me.”

“I could just not tell him.”

“No, you really can’t.” Arms wrapped around Peter and held him close. “Please don’t lie to Wade for me. As much as I’d like to stay with you; I’d hate to see you destroy yourself. And the guilt would eat you alive.”

“I know.” Peter sniffled against his breaking heart. “I just wish I could change things.”

“It’s okay, sweetness. They’ll love you forever. As will I. Just from a distance.”

“’S not fair.”

“Believe me, Peter; I know that too.” Madcap clutched Peter’s head against the big man’s chest. “But better to have loved and lost—”

“Is it though?” Peter asked, blinking against the overwhelming loss in his chest.

“I will cherish you every day of eternity, Peter. And that’s so much more than the nothing I had before.”

Peter pressed a tiny kiss to the big man’s jaw. “Then let’s make tonight worthy of star-crossed lovers.”

“Let’s.”

The press of their lips led to a deep kiss, drenched in bittersweet passion. White tasted of garlic and something sweet, while Peter was certain he tasted of salty tears and heartbreak.

Peter made up his mind: as long as this spirit lived in Wade, he would be White in the younger man’s mind.

“Thought you said this was a porn without plot,” Peter muttered against White’s lips.

“What can I say? Sometimes a wild plot appears. And there’s no stopping one once it takes hold.”

“Figures.” Peter gave a mild huff as he guided the bigger man to the bed. “And me without my galoshes.”

White snickered at his sullen and mirthless joke. “I’ll be sure to set them out for you before Wade takes a blade to excise me.”

With his lover both familiar and foreign, Peter took his time undressing the larger man. He kissed, nuzzled, and licked each section of exposed skin before sliding the cloth another inch. With each draw of breath, he savored the warm fruity scent of his lover’s freshly bathed skin.

White sat up long enough to start a bluesy playlist on his phone, the music mellow but deep.

“Come back here,” Peter grumbled, tugging at the man’s elbow so he collapsed into the smaller man’s arms. “I want you.”

“Then take me,” the box whispered against his chest. “I’m yours for as long as Wade will permit.”

“Don’t I get any say in this? Don’t you?”

“Not really.” And they both knew it was true.

Peter scraped his nails delicately, sweeping up the bigger man’s muscular sides before following his abs down. With an arm cradling that thick neck, he sought out lips with his own. He encircled the familiar cock of his beloved with a gentle caress.

“You’ve never made love to any of us like this,” White observed, his voice distant.

“Wade wants me to take him. Yellow wants to take me. You’re the one who wants a physical manifestation of love; I was just too dense to understand what you need.” Peter straddled the man below him. “And I do love you, my monster.”

“For what little it’s worth, I believe you. Now shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, White.”

Cradling his lover’s face in his hands, Peter pressed their lips together again and again, each kiss a subtle pleasure in its own right and the sum greater than its parts. A large, scarred palm settled over his cage, massaging around the plastic until Peter whimpered against those equally scarred lips.

“Let’s get all of this off you. I don’t want anything between us tonight.”

“Okay.” Peter, however, didn’t let off the butterfly-light kisses until White pried himself free.

Stripped of his hardware, Peter felt more naked than he ever had. But he didn’t mind being exposed for White. “Gonna make you feel so good.” Gripping both pricks in a single hand, Peter drizzled a bit too much lube over them. “So good, my sweet monster.”

A high whine bled from White as he trembled under Peter. “Not yet. Don’t let it be over yet.”

“No, not yet. Promise.” With long slow stokes, he teased them. “Just enough to get us nice and hard.”

With a pleased hum, White settled into the satisfying cadence of Peter’s affections.

“Such a good monster for me. Flip over onto your stomach.”

“Prone.” White laughed.

“Yes, prone.” Peter nipped at his neck. “Vulnerable.” Another small bite healed even before he moved to the next spot along White’s shoulder. “Trusting.” He placed one hard nip at the edge of the triceps. “Mine.”

“Yes, Peter, yours. Always yours.”

In one motion Peter sank to the hilt. Buried inside his lover, he continued his futile effort to mark his man. With a barely there grind of short, hard thrusts, he pressed deeper. Engulfed in that velvet heat, he wrung low, timid moans from White. Gripping the big man’s waist, he pulled his lover’s body into each shallow plunge.

“Please, Peter!” The big man groaned low and desperate. “Please!”

“I know, my sweet monster, I know. But we don’t want to come yet.”

“Just move!”

Peter chuckled at the command. “Yes, White.”

As the smaller man pumped in earnest, White’s brows drew low in a scowl. “So good.” Each thrust punched a needy keen from the older man. “So fuckin’ good it hurts.”

“I could stop,” Peter teased.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Yes, White.” Still filling the box over and again with firm, long thrusts, Peter laughed outright at the box’s very real distress. “I won’t. Not yet anyway.”

Grip firm at White’s collarbones, Peter created an illusion of danger. White writhed under Peter, exposing his throat in offering for a real choke. After a nip at the tendons along the back of his neck, Peter grabbed the bigger man’s chin, pulled him back, and twisted his lover until he could reach those marred lips for a bruising kiss. Pumping slow and deep, he returned to the long line of his lover’s neck, biting and sucking.

“Not yet; not yet!” White hissed.

Hips still, Peter cooed softly, “No, not yet. Sit on the edge of the bed for me?”

“Anything,” White promised in an airy gasp as he fumbled to obey.

“Sweet monster.” Peter slipped to his knees between the big man’s legs. “So good for me. Always so good for me.” He flicked his tongue over the underside of his lover cock.

White wailed at the direct stimulation.

“You won’t come until I’ve filled you to the brim?”

“Yes, Pe—aah!” White yelped from another flick of Peter’s tongue.

Peter chuckled against the scarred velvet on his lover’s cock. “Easier said than done?”

“Yes, Pe—AAH, fuck, you little shit! Stop that!”

“That’s me. Peter Parker. Little shit.” He laughed again before swallowing down the hard cock at his lips, then pulling off with a smack. “Do you want to take control, ride me for a while?”

“I rather think I do.” White sniffed haughtily at the idea. “You sinful little minx.”

Peter stretched onto his back on the bed, then gestured open-handed at his erection. “Then be my guest.”

White moaned, absolutely debauched, as he sank onto Peter’s cock.

“Someone’s feeling vocal today.”

“I’m not afraid I might say the wrong thing and spoil…” His words sucked the air from the room until he rocked his hips, forcing Peter’s erection to the hilt in that hot, welcoming body.

“So what do you look like?” Peter asked.

“Blond, about your size, manic blue eyes.”

“Wait, that’s why my stomach lurches when I meet your gaze? It’s the same as Dicky’s?”

“Indeed.” White sighed. “I am sorry for not finding some way to stop you from having to endure that.”

Peter pointedly ignored the statement. “Did you ever top?”

“No. I, um, couldn’t.”

“No stick?”

“Not for the girls I dated.” His laugh had a cutting edge. “Such a good boy, they said, so respectful. No you vapid cow, I just had no interest in your little heifer.”

“Be nice.” Peter ran a finger up the inside of his thigh. “Would you like to try topping me?”

“Sweet of you to offer—I expected no less, you marvelous love moppet—but I don’t think either of us would enjoy me losing my erection before I can even get it in you.”

“Okay.” Peter closed his eyes, focusing on the pleasure spiraling through his body. “If you change your mind, you know where I am.”

“How?” A shiver ran through White as he lifted his body, only to crash down over Peter’s cock in the next breath. “You’ve taken everything Wade, Yellow, and I have thrown at you, and you’re still unphased, still … sweet.”

“’M not. Not really. But I want to be… Less talk, more fuck.”

“Isn’t that Yellow’s line?”

Peter only growled in reply.

White set to riding the younger man in earnest, moaning with each drop before again lifting his weight with those massive thighs. “I am going to miss this body. Wade’s a fuckin’ beast.”

“That does it.” Peter rolled White to the mattress. “I’m gonna fuck your brains out.”

The box whimpered for the first few strokes, but soon he was keening with every hard snap of the smaller man’s hips.

“Where were you born?”

“I…? Born?”

“What’s your birth date?”

“Ung, Peter!”

“That’s right: Peter.” He paused to add a few harder thrusts. Lifting one leg and then the other to his shoulders, he folded the bigger man in half. “Peter’s the only damned thing you need to be thinking about right now.”

“Yes, Peter.” White nearly screamed when the smaller man sank balls deep yet again.

Not feeling sweet, Peter delved hard and deep into his lover’s trembling body. Punishing, though his pain wasn’t White’s fault, he kept his strength in check only enough to keep from mutilating the man under him. Another dozen strokes and he threw his head back, shouting as his balls emptied into his lover.

Peter rolled them again, letting White stay mounted on his softening cock. “C’mon, my little blond-haired, blue-eyed twink; time to come for me.”

Hand a blur, White jacked his length. His moans drew into deep, breathless pleas. Back bent, chin pressed to his chest, he made a strangled groan as stream after stream of pearlescent milky liquid coated Peter’s abs. Between gasps, he forced out, “Thank you.”

Gentled by his release, Peter patted the mattress at his side. “Lay with me a while?”

“Anything you want.” The big body pressed along the contours of his own. “You’re angry.” White wasn’t asking.

“Damn skippy, I’m fuckin’ furious.”

“I wish I could do some—”

“You’ve done quite uh-goddamned-nough.” Peter probably shouldn’t have unloaded on White like that, but damn, if he hadn’t repeatedly talked Wade into killing himself, then Peter had a chance, no matter how slim, of not losing him. “That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry.”

“It was plenty fair, Peter. We both know it.” White sighed. “You had forgiven me for that once…”

“You’re still forgiven. I’m just pissed off at the world at large.”

“And my feud with Wade in specific.”

“Yes.” Peter ran a hand through his hair, settling at his neck, a decent support as he glared at the ceiling. “I don’t want our last days to be like this.”

“Me either.” White rolled to his side and ran his fingertips along Peter’s side. “But you have every right to be angry.”

“Thanks.” Peter found very little solace in that fact. Still he buried his face in his lover’s chest and let White comfort him as best the box could.

“Let’s pick this up again after we’ve had a little nap?”

“Sounds good.” Peter nuzzled deeper into the crook of the big man’s neck.

White snickered. “Should I give you your afterwork correction now?”

Peter grit his teeth. “If I ever needed a reminder to behave myself, it’s now.”

“So yes?” White blinked, incredulous.

“Please remind me to be mindful, honest, respectful, and obedient. Especially honest. Because I’m fighting the urge.”

“As you wish, Peter.” White sat at the edge of the bed and patted his lap. “Unless you actually want the paddle?”

“Right about now, I need all the encouragement I can get.” Peter strode from the room, grabbed Peter’s Punishment Paddle™ from his chair, and brought it to White. “Break me.”

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I ever am.” Peter draped his body over White’s thighs and tried to unclench his muscles. Everything felt too tight and too hard and too stressed.

That did not last long. Merciless and methodical, White broke Peter down to a sobbing mess. Oh, the pain was stunning, but mostly it allowed Peter to access the relief of weeping for his coming loss. Without restraint he mourned the very man who brought him this agony.

“That’s a hundred,” White informed him. “Is that enough to help you remember to be honest with Wade?”

Peter could only blubber in reply.

“Would it help if you went to your corner?”

Nodding, blind from his tears, Peter stumbled in that direction. Nose to the corner, palms to his elbows, he let the familiarity wash over him.

“Your Daddy would set a fifteen-minute timer, so I guess that’s my job for now.”

Peter didn’t try to reply. He listened as White moved through the apartment, his steps heavier than Wade’s, better matched to the size of their body. Though the ability to track the man offered some comfort, it still wasn’t the silent motion that said his current misery was nearing an end.

Like Wade, White returned to sit close at Peter’s back. That did offer tangible relief, and he took what consolation he could in the man’s near proximity.

As the minutes passed, Peter’s sobs slowed. When the timer buzzed, he’d calmed. “Thank you, White.”

“I’ll never understand, but I’m glad you’re pleased.” White made a concerned grunt. “I realize this is a dumb question, but are you okay?”

Peter curled into his lover’s embrace. “I’m better now. But no, not really.”

“Me neither.”

“We don’t have to be okay, right?”

“Suppose not.” White rested his forehead against Peter’s. “We can be as fucked up we want for the next six hours, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Sounds good. Hey, can you order ice cream delivery on Wade’s account? I’d kill for a half gallon of Turtle Tracks or Mint Chocolate Chip or pretty much any flavor, really.”

White’s indulgent laugh had a sultry quality that Peter wanted to hear again. “I believe we can have as much ice cream as we want tonight. Should I order some real food too? Seems like you were supposed to cook tonight.” White really was off his game.

“That was last night. Chinese?”

“Chinese it is. Kung Pao and General Tso’s?”

“Yes, please. Don’t forget the potstickers.”

“With potstickers. You spoiled little brat.” White shook a finger at his lover

Peter snapped at the accusing pointer finger. “Figure we’re both wiped out. And let’s face it: we wanna keep our energy up for a lot more sex before midnight.”

“Oh?” White snickered at him. “Do we?”

“Don’t we?” Peter blinked up through his lashes, giving the doe eyes that always made Wade melt, hoping they worked as well on the box.

“I suppose we do.” White placed their orders, including a call for four half-gallons of ice cream, adding Rocky Road and Caramel Swirl. “There. Enough calories to give a racehorse diabetes.” He flopped onto the couch beside the younger man.

“Thanks.” Peter entwined his legs around his lover and pulled himself to straddle the bigger man’s hips. “Oh, whatever shall we do until our food arrives?”

“You really can’t tell angry from horny, can you?”

“Not even remotely.” Peter laughed in spite of himself. “That obvious, huh?”

“Nah.” White waved him off, lying as poorly as Peter ever had. “Totally not noticeable if I didn’t know what I was looking for.” Then he snickered. “Must have totally sucked for that guy running around with Venom these days.”

“Flash? Oh, there were days I’d have hate-fucked Eugene to nub given half a chance.” Peter slithered from White’s lap to kneel between his feet. “You, on the other hand, have a much nicer healing factor, and I say that with the cancer in mind.”

“Really not a fan of the symbiote, eh?”

Peter nodded. “Damned thing was a nightmare.”

“Um, prob’ly our bad.” When the younger man only cocked his head to one side, White elaborated, “Kinda had a bad reaction when we tried on the black suit. Don’t think it jived well with the dain bramage.”

“I—” Peter closed his mouth to think a moment longer. “That was Yellow’s bloodthirst that made him damned near impossible to control?”

“Maybe? In some timelines, including the main 616 timeline and this one. Not in Earth-199999 though; in the MCU movies, the symbiote skips you and us entirely. Which the entirety of 1218, the world watching us, thought was … odd. Venom doesn’t even have a spider on his chest in the movies. Though he quickly figured out the webs on his own.” White took his turn to shrug.

_Internal consistency._ Peter finally managed to put his finger on what was most uncanny about White’s universes: 616 was always consistent with 616, no matter how elaborate the stories became. When something like House of M branched off from the 616 story line, it always got its own universe designation, in that case, Earth-58163. But mostly White mentioned 616 and it’s creepy 1218 counterpart, where people were, this very second, reading about their adventures. Often in states of lesser or greater arousal, according to White.

Who added, “But that’s not what’s important now.”

“So what is?”

“There’s a gorgeous Spidey at the perfect height to suck me.” A genuine laugh shook the big man, joyful and light. “Be a shame to waste this opportunity.”

“I like you more now that you don’t have anything left to hide.” A dark, hard injustice stuck firm in Peter’s chest. Instead of dwelling on it, he pulled the bigger man’s hips to the edge of his seat. “If you thought hate sex with Spidey was good, I’m certain you’ll love the rage blowjob.”

“When did we ever—”

Peter cut him off with a talented swirl of his tongue. White had been sullen about his presence for months after he started dating Wade. It made sense now, knowing that Peter was wrecking some sort of vendetta Madcap had against Deadpool, but it had certainly felt like a hatefest as recently as the screw incident during bootcamp.

With a gasp, White let his palm settle into cupping the back of the younger man’s skull. “Yes, rage blowjob good.”

Tongue out as far as it would go, a single finger just deep enough to reach the big man’s prostate, he swallowed White deeper. As long as taming his gag reflex kept a choking-tight leash on his higher brain functions, Peter could tamp down his temper a bit more. Working hard to keep his focus solely on the feel along his tongue and throat as they massaged the bigger man’s erection, Peter let everything else fall away. Only the carnal pleasure and the feedback from his lover, nothing else existed for him, clearing a majority of the anger that throbbed mercilessly in his chest.

The remainder of his ire, he would endure; he had no choice. His fury had no home. He wasn’t angry with Wade or White or himself. So every time the rage surfaced in his mind, it simply grew larger and meaner, seeking an outlet, deserving or not. Peter wouldn’t allow that; he didn’t deserve that pain, and neither did White.

Thus Rage Blowjob:

_Suck down, tap prostate, swallow deep, pull back._

Each tiny shift of his lover’s bulk required a careful adjustment to keep from gagging.

_Suck down, tap prostate, swallow deep, pull back._

Each breath became an effort that he had to plan between motions.

_Suck down, tap prostate, swallow deep, pull back._

Then White pulsed over his tongue, and he swallowed repeatedly to keep from choking.

Fresh tears wept from the corners of Peter’s eyes, whether from the sting of deep throating his lover’s generous proportions or the boiling anger he tried to stifle, he really didn’t care. His heart didn’t feel like it was beating out of his chest, and that was enough to put him at ease with everything else in his world.

“Fuck, Peter. I’ve had good. And I’ve had you. But until now I’ve never had your best. Fuck.” White’s voice wavered, absolutely wrecked. “What the hell was that?”

“Me trying to keep a lid on my temper.” Peter shrugged, not willing to see whatever reaction the box might have had to that statement. “I can’t seem to calm down unless I’m laser-focused on a task. Concentration well beyond my usual hyperfocus for work and Spidey. And sex.”

“Hmm, maybe we should piss you off more often?”

“Please fucking don’t. Feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.” He scoffed. “And that’s after calming down by ninety percent.”

White stood, pulled Peter’s back to his chest. The grip that curved across the smaller man’s jaw ran onto his neck on both sides, making him feel tiny in his lover’s arms. “You certainly don’t feel ninety percent calm.” He tugged Peter’s head to one side and kissed along the vulnerable skin he exposed. “Feel more like a storm barely contained in your skin.”

Peter couldn’t argue that; the assessment seemed more accurate than anything he could think up at the moment.

“Maybe you need to receive the rage blowjob instead of give it?”

“Maybe I need you to fuck me in half, leave me twitching on the floor barely able to move.” Peter hissed, recoiling when he realized what he’d said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it—”

“The fuck you didn’t.”

“Not like that though. I just—” Peter growled with his pent-up anger, not able to make words from the jumble of violent thoughts and enraged emotions that swarmed his mind like frenzied locusts.

“Worst that can happen is I go limp.”

“White, no, you don’t hafta—”

The box rumbled against his ear, “And what if I want to, Peter?”

“You obviously don’t, and I never should have—”

“Will you let me try?”

Peter stilled as the actual meaning of White’s words sank into his mind. “Only if you’re sure.”

A clack, a squelch, the thunk of the lube bottle hitting the floor, then White pulled him back, seeking entrance. “Does that feel sure enough for you?”

The anticipation stole Peter’s words, and only a lewd moan fell from his mouth.

Normally painfully loving and caring, White’s nip at his love’s throat was simply painful. With a bruising grip on Peter’s hips, he breached the muscle. Arms tight around the smaller man’s chest, he lifted him, allowed him to sink with gravity before taking him fast and hard.

Face pressed to the wall, knees braced and tacked into place, Peter reached up, took some of his weight off his back. Arching, gasping, he let the big man pummel him. His ribs groaned against each draw of breath, even as White brought him to panting.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” White threatened, the words vicious with promise. He pulled back from the wall.

Peter gained enough control to release the gypsum board rather than rip it free, a small victory. Then his back hit the floor hard enough to wheeze out the tidal volume from his lungs.

White landed on top, heavy and crushing, but Peter couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Fucked into the floor, I recall?”

“Yes, please.” Peter giggled at the sheer literalness of the box.

Under them, the floor joists groaned along as White pounded as deep and hard as that big form allowed. Suffocating from the weight and his ribs and his own need for more oxygen, Peter reached between them. Only to have a scalding slap make him yank his hand back.

“Bad Peter! No, no! No touchie!” Instead White wrapped one ham-sized fist around his leaking cock but didn’t yet pump along the length.

Clutching his injured hand to his chest Peter whimpered; sure, it wasn’t actually harmed, but a full-on slap from Deadpool stung, alright? “Please?” he asked, soft and breathy.

“In due time,” White replied.

As if cued by the test to Peter’s patience, a knock came at the door.

“That’ll be the ice cream.” White rolled them again. “Go pull on your robe and answer the door.”

“Yes, White.” Obedient. When had Peter Parker become obedient? Nonetheless, he did as he was told, tipping the delivery guy a twenty from his own stash of cash. “Two gallons of ice cream. I take it we’re planning a pretty solid sulk?” he asked as he hip checked the door.

“Eh, pretty sure it’s a gallon and a half if you check the labels.” Still sprawled on the floor, White chuckled at him. “Since I am planning a massive sulk. And you seem well on your way.”

After a quick detour to the kitchen, Peter plopped cross legged, his back against the skirting of the couch, two cartons and two spoons in hand. “Never had a breakup sulk with the person I was breaking up with before. ’S weird.”

Shrugging, White took a spoon and the Rocky Road, leaving Peter with Mint Chocolate Chip, thank you very much, Wade. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“Should we turn on a sad movie?”

“Nah.” White scraped chocolate ice cream and marshmallow fluff from the lid to ensure it couldn’t drip should the top become tipped before they threw it away. “We’re plenty soggy enough.” He shifted so he sat shoulder to shoulder with Peter. “We can get back to the hate sex after we’re good and high on a sugar rush.”

“Is it really hate sex if we don’t hate each other or the sex itself?” Peter let the first spoonful of green-dyed goodness melt in his mouth.

“I suppose not. But we hate to lose each other, so close enough?”

“Close enough.” Peter nodded his agreement.

Both had made a decent dent in their carton when the second knock came. Peter rose to his feet and glided to the door, securing his robe as he went. Another twenty from his stash, and he returned to the couch with a plentiful supply of Chinese. They skipped the small talk and dug right in.

While they ate White put some classical cello on Wade’s Spotify, the Bluetooth making it resonate from every corner.

“Romantic,” Peter noted, before dowsing another potsticker in the tangy sauce.

“Never could convince Wade to learn the cello; every time he got his hands on one, he plucked it like a bass.”

“Sounds like Wade.” The kinks in Peter’s soul had unraveled enough that, as his sweat cooled, so did his temper.

“_Ein gutes Essen ist Balsam für die Seele_.” White leaned into Peter as he finished off the last of the Sweet and Sour Cabbage.

“You know damned well I only speak English, ASL, and Mandarin.”

“A good meal is balm for the soul,” White repeated. His brow creased. “You speak Mandarin?”

“Enough to get by.” Peter gaped at the box. “You didn’t know that? I’m pretty certain Wade does.”

White shrugged. “Sometimes I miss things when I’m not… what did you say? Driving the bus?” He chuckled at the thought. “You are a damned delight, you know that?”

“Thanks.” Peter nipped the shoulder that nudged against his own. “_Niǎoér chànggē bùshì yīnwéi tāmen yǒu le dáàn, érshì yīnwéi tāmen yǒu gē yào chàng_.”

“A bird does not sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.” White smiled down at him. “Yù bù zhuó, bù chéng qì; rén bù xué, bù zhī yì.”

“A gem cannot be polished without friction. Nor a man perfected without trials.” A hearty laugh shook Peter. “Then I should be zit-proof by now.”

“Mmm, goofy Peter. Are than any emotions we’ve skipped over?”

“Dunno. Duncare.” Full as a tick, Peter let his head loll into White’s lap. “Tired of feeling them now.”

“Want me to make you forget?”

Peter lifted the lid and brow of one eye, the other still firmly closed. “What precisely might that involve.”

“Another round of slap and tickle. Why? What did you think it meant?”

“Dunno, chloroform?”

“Bigger headache when you wake up. Nah, you don’t want that.” White tugged the smaller man into his arms. Leaving their leftovers on the floor, he toted his lover to the bed and unceremoniously dropped him. “You top.”

Peter giggled as he bounced. “Okay, fine, but you’re riding.”

“Fine.” White prowled up the bed on all fours. Kissing Peter’s neck, he fumbled blindly in the nightstand until he found another bottle of lube. “I’ll ride.” He drenched Peter’s cock, sank to the hilt, then fucked himself, allowing his cock to thrash erratically between them.

“Spider-man isn’t a menace; your cock is the menace,” Peter grumbled as the grabbed the distracting appendage. “Can’t relax and enjoy the ride when you’re flopping around, demanding my attention.”

“It’s only fair.”

“Fair. Right, fair. I’ll remember this.” _But not for long._ Dammit, why couldn’t Peter’s brain shut down for the rest of the day. He’d had enough.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that a bit more vigor won’t solve.” Peter thrust up and White moaned shamelessly. “See, I’m already starting to forget everything I’ve ever known.”

“Mmm, so I see.” With another delicious keen, the big man threw his head back.

Abs tight and chest heaving, White worked his rock-hard thighs to raise his body, then drop over Peter’s cock. Riding the younger man for all he was worth, the box groaned louder as Peter stroked his length. Breaking into outright growls, he snapped up into Peter’s fist before shoving back onto Peter’s cock. The tendons along his neck stood out in stark relief, not unlike the muscles bunching along his arms.

“You’re pretty like that.” Peter squeezed a little extra, just to see the strain lining the big muscles.

“Wade is, at least.” White sighed but didn’t stop.

Ignoring his impulse to apologize, Peter concentrated on making this good for his lover. This was one of those moments to see White through, and it deserved Peter’s full attention. A bit more twist at the end of each jerk, a bit more thrust just before White bottomed out, and the older man was lost to the world. Grunting with each thrust in a gravelly baritone, he trembled and gasped.

Hands on those massive thighs, Peter made White stop, catch his breath.

“I was close.”

Peter stroked the heated flesh of those delightful thighs. “Wasn’t ready for you to come just yet.”

“Do you plan to stop me next time?” White asked, petulant.

“Aw, sweet monster, no. No, I’ll let you come next time.” He squeezed just above the bigger—er, older man’s knee. “Back to work.”

Glistening with sweat, White panted loudly as he resumed riding Peter’s cock. Face lined in stress, he jerked his head back each time Peter bottomed out inside him. His keen barely shy of a pained whimper, he grabbed Peter’s shoulders to keep himself steady.

“Ungh, Peter, fuck, Peter please!” White scrunched his eyes tightly closed before throwing his head back one last time. “Fuck!” Keening with every breath, that barrel chest gasped as come streamed across Peter’s chest and stomach.

A few more hard thrusts and Peter’s balls pulled tight before jetting his own release into his lover’s heat.

“Fuck,” Peter muttered as he fought to catch his breath.

“Indeed.” White smirked down at him, obviously pleased.

Not to be out-smirked, Peter asked, “Glad you waited until I was closer?”

“Yes, Peter, I’m glad I waited until you could come too.” He dismounted and trundled off to the bathroom. The younger man was still debating following the box when he returned with a damp rag. “We really should shower after that.” Still he washed the cock he’d enjoyed so thoroughly.

“Meh, it can wait. Unless you want shower sex? Blowjob? Shampoo handjob? Hey, is that why Wade uses so much of my shampoo?”

White scoffed as he turned the washcloth to a clean section before washing his ejaculate from Peter’s chest. “It smells like you. Of course that’s why. It’s a Pavlovian reaction.”

“Fair enough.” Loose limbed, finally, Peter let his body enjoy White’s care. “Thank you.”

“Most welcome, you little sexpot.” White returned the rag to the bathroom before dropping down beside Peter. He glared at Wade’s phone. “We have two hours left.”

“Like screwing our way to the guillotine,” Peter grumbled.

“Can’t think of a better way to go. And I’ve done them all.”

“I know. Just… Not really a regret. More like a memory that doesn’t exist yet.”

“Anticipation is almost worse that the fall of the ax. Hmph, maybe the anticipation will be worse than the event itself.”

“Usually is. Still I can’t see how.”

“Fraudulent foresight, usually. Sometimes just anxiety making you relive the worst, over and over again, without the benefit of being able to either act or move forward in time.”

“I think I agree with Wade on this one; I hate it when you’re right.”

That drew a dark chuckle from the box. “Once you’ve jumped outta the plane, there’s only one way to go, and that’s down.”

“Kinda think the speed makes a bit of difference. Terminal velocity for a man without a parachute is a might bit different than for a man with one.”

“Meh, with my healing factor? Not really. Down is down; down without a parachute is down faster.”

“With my healing factor? Down without a parachute is weeks of rehabilitation. Provided I can keep from breaking my neck.”

“Then I wouldn’t get in a recklessness competition with Wade, since his is closer to mine.”

Peter blinked for a few moments, fighting to adapt to the idea that, unlike Yellow, White wasn’t the same person as Wade. “That’s right; you have a healing factor of your own.”

White nodded.

“Maybe he’ll let us have the rest of the week.”

“He’d do almost anything for you.”

They left the logical question unasked: Would Wade let Peter and Madcap see each other on occasion in any way? Because neither of them wanted to hurt him by going behind his back or simply defying his will, an interesting irony since the matter hinged on how Wade took Madcap’s efforts to make him kill himself.

Peter groaned into the crook of his elbow. “Fuck me, I don’t want to think anymore.”

“Reckon that can be arranged.” White propped himself up so he could pull Peter’s arm back. “Unless it’s time for more ice cream.”

“Yes.” Peter shook his head, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Time for more ice cream.”

As Wednesday wound down, they talked of universes and movies and fanfics. Then White assured him, “This is porn without plot. And even if the author usually ends a chapter at midnight, she won’t make us go through a cliffhanger.”

“She? I thought your author was Stanley?”

“Stan. Stop. Lee. Stop. And he’s simply our first author. We have dozens in canon and thousands in fanfic.”

“Oh. So what universe is this?”

“It’s a fanfic, so it’s not canon. It doesn’t have an official universe. The author could make one up if you want?”

“No, I guess that’s fine.” He sniffled. “Is she gonna make this all better?”

“Peter, she’s the only one who can.”

“Oh. Alright then. I hope so. Because I hate feeling like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. I know because I have, you know.”

“Yes, Peter, I know.” White sighed and snuggled tight to Peter.

_Ten to midnight. Wade will be back soon…_

***

“Baby boy?” Wade wrapped his arms tighter around Peter. “What the fuck did that bastard do to you? I’m gonna murder White!”

“No, Daddy, please! He fed me ice cream and Chinese, and he let me rage fuck him until I could breathe again, and he rode my emotional roller coaster until you came back and…” Peter sucked down a gasp of air. “Please, Daddy, don’t be mad at White. He was so good to me today; we grieved so hard.”

“Shh, honey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll get through like we always do: together.”

“No, we won’t!” Peter wailed and buried his face in Wade’s chest.

“Okay…” Wade glanced around, completely at a loss. “Peter, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” he whined.

“Well how can Daddy make it better if you don’t tell me what it is?”

“No, that’s what’s wrong. I know something about White, and I don’t want to tell you.”

“Baby boy, Daddy’s not an ogre… Well, not literally…”

Peter continued to sob unabated.

“Okay, if it breaks you this bad, then don’t tell me. You’re allowed to have limits and borders, er, boundaries, and healthy things like that, sweetie Petey.”

“But I’m s’posed to be honest…”

“And you have been. I hereby give Peter Parker permission to share this secret with White instead of Daddy. Does that make it any better?”

Peter sniffled. “Fucking anticipation,” he muttered to himself. To Wade he replied, “Yes, Daddy.”

“There. No sad Peter.”

“Peter still a little sad.” He wiped a trail of snot along Wade’s arm.

“Ew.” The big man’s laughter boomed over Peter. “You are absolutely vile when you’re sad.”

“Yeah.” Peter blinked up at him, smiling again. “I am, aren’t I?”


	26. Day 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is a stupid chapter that hated me. I've written everything at least twice because it refused. Thanks of understanding the delay.
> 
> Literally the moment I hit save, I came here and posted, so there's prob'ly mistakes near the end that never saw a second glance.

Peter woke to Wade’s warning growl.

“I don’t know what the fuck has you acting the ass again, but you need to knock it off.” Wade paused, listening to one of his boxes. “What do you mean…? Well if it involves whatever had baby boy’s head in twist, then, no, the fuck, I don’t know… No shit… Human need boundaries, shit for brains… Of course I didn’t make him.”

Peter rolled over and nuzzled against his lover. “Daddy doesn’t know, doesn’t wanna know.”

“See.” Wade gestured in a jerky motion to the smaller man. “So I got no clue… Whaddaya mean, ‘never mind then’? Ugh, fuck you and the jackass you rode in on.” He curled into Peter’s embrace. “Holy shit, baby boy, whatever secret you two have must be a damned doozy.”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s sizable.” Peter chuckled, reaching for Wade’s cock as a distraction. “Not the only sizable thing around though.”

“You aren’t as slick as you think you are.”

“No?” He blinked doe-eyed through his lashes.

“No.” Wade crossed his arms, making certain to flex his biceps, much to Peter’s benefit. “Pretty sure, whatever it is, it deserves a punishment of some sort.” Wade fluttered his own lashless eyes, a sure sign Peter might as well brace for regrets. “Would you concur, my treasure of constant and excessive mental and physical stimulation?”

“You might say that…” Tense, unsure of how bad this would get, Peter shrunk in on himself.

“Suppose I did. Would it be fair to take away your personal pronouns today?”

Peter grimaced as he admitted, “That’s probably wholly inadequate.”

“Aw, but Daddy has such a good, sweet boy; I’ll be generous and even allow them at work.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Though he still felt small, Peter let his muscles loosen. This was his Wade; he might be unpleasant when he’s irritated, but he’d not go all-out Deadpool on his boyfriend.

“Oh, don’t mistake leniency for weakness, baby boy. Just because you blink exactly right, doesn’t mean I’m gonna cave and let you off the hook entirely.”

“I wasn’t—” Oh, who was Peter kidding? If he didn’t intend to flash Wade more of the Doe Eyes of Much Innocence™, that only meant he did so without having to think about it. _Oh, shit, my pronouns!_ “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Damned right, _Sorry, Daddy_. Stand up and drop your boxers.”

“Yes, Daddy.” A punishment spanking already this morning? Peter might as well expect today to be rough.

Instead of hard strikes, the sharp odor of a permanent marker threw Peter for a loop. The felt tip tickled, but aware that Wade considered penmanship important, he tried to stay still as possible, even when the damp squiggles chilled as they dried.

At the shutter sound of Wade’s phone taking a photo, Peter glanced over his shoulder.

“Would you like to see, baby boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter gulped, almost afraid to know.

He turned so he could get a better look at the display. One cheek read, “Daddy’s boy is being punished.” The other said, “Expect a white glove inspection.” Both were drawn in a neat, tight cursive.

Wade cracked a hard grin. “Someone’s going to have some mighty squirmy thighs after his morning correction.”

Peter’s ears burned. “Yes, Daddy.”

That grin stretched impossibly wider, blood shimmering in a small crack. “But first I have the perfect way to make your day suck, all ready to go.”

“Yes, Daddy.” _Suck? My day has to suck? Oh, don’t think I like this, big guy._

Wade shot a bird overhead. “Don’t you dare forget you’re the reason he’s being punished.” He drummed his fingers over his thigh while listening to the boxes. “Dammit, White, I’m not gonna hurt our boy.” He sighed heavily before turning to Peter. “Alrighty, my little buttercup of bootyliciousness, ass up over the edge of the bed. I’ll be back before your alarm goes off in ten.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter scurried to obey despite the considerable wait.

When Wade finally returned he said, “Close your eyes and keep ’em closed.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Weird, Peter smelled the florals of Wade’s bath salts.

He pried the plug from Peter’s ass. “No peeking.” Something relatively small and wet slid between his boy’s cheeks. He tucked it inside before landing a light smack on a sit spot. A process he repeated again and again until a debauched moan seeped from the man in his arms. “That should be enough. Don’t move.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The bigger man stood up and walked away, his footsteps pattering with his eager amusement.

Peter didn’t feel overfull, but he could definitely tell he had things, inside him, several dozen wet somethings that smelled of white florals.

“Ah, nice and clean.” With no further preamble, he pressed Peter’s plug back into his body. “We’ll pick this up again at lunch.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Cheeks flaming now, Peter’s cage had grown a bit too tight for comfort. He whimpered as quietly as possible.

Of course, Wade heard that. “Aw, baby boy, are you ashamed of being a bad boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Then it’s working.” Wade gave a hearty laugh as he slapped a handprint on Peter’s ass. “Go get ready for work. Hurry up so we have plenty of time for your correction. And don’t you dare scrub off your shaming. You’ll be wearing that until Daddy says otherwise.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Biting his lip, Peter rose to his tiptoes for a quick kiss.

***

Wade sent Peter out the door a good bit earlier than usual. When he plopped into his lab chair, his thighs screamed.

“You alright there?” Bruce asked.

_Oh, now you notice something other than work._ Peter managed to school his face into something approaching neutral. “Yeah, just a long day yesterday. I’m a little sore from it today.”

“Too much time swinging around the city?”

“Something entirely not like that.” Peter couldn’t look the man in the eye, but he seemed to get the hint.

Peter’s phone buzzed with a text notification. _Oh, ye gads, no._ Peter groaned but he checked the incoming message:

_Is it l8r yet?_

_Yes, Daddy._

_Bb feel a little full?_

_Yes, Daddy._ Ugh, full alright, Peter had had his fill of that phrase already this morning.

_Tell dd how u feel bb.  
In excruciating detail._

_Like I have six dozen little balls of slime shoved up my a—_Dammit, Peter meant to hit the backspace button, not the send. _Like your boy has six dozen little balls of slime shoved up his ass._

_Hmm dd did say u could have ur pronouns at work._

_Thank you, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy._

_Descriptions a little lacking. Does it gurgle? Perc-u-late?_

_It kinda jostles or slshs. Like, ya know… dozens of little balls of slime… shoved up your boy’s ass?_

_Mhm, jostling. Is cmfy for u tho?_

_Um, comfy enough? Your boy can do this until lunch._

_Good. C u then._

_Thank you, Daddy._

_Btw, U need practice sexting. U suck at this bb._

_So you’ve said._

Peter stowed his phone. The next four hours were going to be horrible, running experiments while his cock strained against its cage, aroused from the shifting of whatever Wade had shoved into his colon. Lunch couldn’t come soon enough.

***

Halfway to Wade’s recovery room, Peter remembered that they had the suite. He sighed and turned back to the elevator. When he finally opened the door, he was flustered to find Wade there, already stripped naked, massive as he knelt by the couch.

“Best get inside and close the door, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Afterward Peter stripped from force of habit.

“Come sit for Daddy.” He patted the couch, conveniently draped in towels, before standing up. “For obvious reasons, you’ll be having a couple of energy bars for lunch.” He sat on the coffee table, offering the wrapped bars to the smaller man along with a bottle of water.

Anxious that Wade might leave the beads inside him, Peter took his lunch and tore into the first.

Wade padded to the kitchen. He returned with a bowl full of little, brightly colored balls. “Water beads. Cute little buggers, aren’t they?”

“If Daddy says so.” Peter eyed the chilled bowl with distinct wariness.

Once he’d finished his lunch, Wade asked, “Hmm, so how full is my baby boy?”

“Full enough, Daddy.”

“’M not so sure. Lay down.” Once Peter obeyed, Wade prodded from his pubic bone, following his colon around his tummy. “Full enough, you say?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Wade prodded again. “Does that hurt?”

“No, Daddy.”

He pushed harder. “Is it uncomfortable.”

Peter finally cracked a smirk. “Well, only when you smush your boy like that.”

Grin widening, Wade’s lip cracked. “Daddy likes it when his boy minds his pronouns.”

After eyeing the bowl, Peter blinked up in distress at the sheer number of hydrogel beads. “You’re gonna shove all of those into your boy, aren’t you?”

“Oh, my boy can bet his drool-worthy bippy Daddy’s gonna shove all of these up his ass. Now drape said ass over the arm of the couch.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and did as he was told. At the first press of cold against his cheeks, he jerked stiff.

“It’ll be nicer for my boy if he relaxes…” But Wade didn’t wait for that to happen, instead forcing the small ball through the tight muscle. Small and cold and so, so many. Once he had about half inside Peter, he said, “Lay on your back again.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Now Peter felt distended from the pressure inside him. When he lay on his back, the little balls shifted and spread. “Daddy, please, your boy still has four hours of work before—”

“I know, baby boy.” Wade massaged the length of his colon again, seeming satisfied. “I think that’s enough.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“For now.” He gave a razored grin. “How ’bout some gratitude, baby boy? Daddy could just keep shoving more and more until you gotta go. Then plug his boy and send him back to work.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Your boy is glad you’re being so lenient.”

Screw White’s nauseating gaze, Wade’s current smile made Peter’s blood run cold. “Mmm, wasn’t verbal gratitude Daddy was after.”

Or maybe that chill was the hydrogel. Peter struggled to sit without sloshing them too much. “Ugh, Daddy, feels weird.”

“Perfect.” Wade stepped between his knees. “Suck it.”

Peter didn’t bother to reply. He did however recall how much White enjoyed the deep throat and prostate massage. “May your boy show off a new trick?”

“Daddy’s always interested in anything his boy wants to show off, my little strumpet of erotic delights.”

And oh, Wade trembled as his younger lover worked him from both sides. The big man shook, then he yowled as he came, Peter’s overly pleased, drooling smirk stretched around his boyfriend’s hefty, veiny cock.

***

_Dammit, that can’t be right._ Peter ran the secondary metabolite panel again. With the same result: more CO2 than the reaction should generate, the number not off by any whole number factor.

Peter sighed as hard as anyone ever had. “Bruce, is now a decent time?”

“What you got?” He rolled over to Peter’s lab desk.

“Where am I fucking up? I’ve got too much carbon dioxide.” Peter tapped the results on his screen, then the prediction in his notes.

“How tight does the pH have to be?”

“Log ten of one point two.”

The other scientist nodded as he scanned the notes and the outcome. “Are you sure the significand on that should be point two and not point one?”

“Okay, yeah, I got ya: pH needs to be tighter to ideal. Adding a significant digit, boss.”

Bruce shrugged. “Happens to the best of us, kiddo. I once fermented an entire batch of petroleum in prep for making a flexible thermoplastic, only to realize that the yeast I was using would die before I reached saturation. Only after it stalled for three damned days.”

“Thanks, Dr. Banner. I appreciate the help. And the encouragement.”

“Seriously, Peter, any time. And call me Bruce. You are too damn formal.”

“It’s just, well, you’ve been Dr. Banner in my head for a long time.”

The other scientist merely nodded before rolling back to his own work.

Peter remeasured, added the correct molality of hydrochloric acid down to another decimal place, dammit, and reran the experiment from the beginning. That fixed the problem. Which he doubted he would’ve had if it weren’t for the balls jockeying for position inside him.

_Wonder what it took for Bruce to use the wrong yeast?_

The answer could be anything from innocuous to devastating, and he wasn’t up for anyone’s emotional roller coaster just now. Not even his own if he were fully honest with himself. Yesterday had been crazy, and now he was being punished, and he wasn’t precisely certain on Wade’s reasoning, only that he’d not even think of questioning it at this point.

_Because White can stay. Which means I can continue fucking my boyfriend’s nemesis._

Peter’s chest tightened, the word _cheater_ cascading through his mind in nightmare technicolor.

_Breathe, Parker. BREATHE._

_Yeah, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and slower than that, asshole._

Bruce clucked like a doting hen. “Long and slow. In through the nose. Fill your lower lungs. Fill your upper lungs. One, two, three. And out. Purse your lips. Relax your face. Wow, let that jaw relax. Shoulders and stomach too. That’s right. Keep blowing. …And again. …Two, three. Pursed and relaxed. …Once more. …Two, three. Out.” He flashed a far too knowledgeable grin. “Better now?”

“Some…”

“Whatever stupidity you’re dealing with, either Tony or I have faced it down before.”

“Ungh, trust me when I say neither you nor Tony want—”

In full retreat Bruce raised both hands. “Say no more. I heard the implied Deadpool.” His brows dipped. “Is he stressing you out this badly?”

“Um… For funsies?”

Bruce snorted before cutting off his laugh with a hand over his mouth. “Oh, brightest suns of the universe, I really do not want to know, do I?”

“Yes, sir, that is correct: you do not want to know.”

“In that case, Tony did it. So I’d be useless for advice anyway.”

“I seriously doubt… Yeah, okay, if any of the Avengers ever had a similar problem to mine, it’d be him.”

“There ya go. If you need help with that, go gossip with the boss. Leave me outta it.”

“Yes, boss.” Peter grinned at his lab mate, enjoying Bruce’s easy smile at the friendly tease.

***

Precisely five minutes before the end of the day, Peter’s bowels began to vibrate. He hurriedly put some music on his phone and pointedly ignored the plug. Overeager to distract Bruce, he asked the first question that came to mind: “Just outta curiosity, what caused you to use the wrong yeast?”

“Um, no. I think I’d rather not share. But yeah, judging by the flush across your ears, something like that, though probably less Deadpool.”

“Figured as much. Thanks for the pep talk.”

Peter rode out the final minutes of his day by cleaning his desk, an activity that was sorely overdue. How the hell did he get himself into this again? He still hadn’t answered that as he resumed his position over the arm of the couch in their suite, allowing Wade to stuff more chilled little balls into his body.

“But Da-a-addy, your boy’s fu-u-ull,” he whined.

Wade snorted. “Yes, and you’ll take another… eight, nine, ten, eleven of these little buggers, no matter how full you are.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter held still and counted as Wade forced another twenty into him. “Daddy, please, that’s way more than eleven.”

“I know, but it made you stop whining for a second.” He held up the bowl for Peter to see that only a handful remained. “They’re going in, so you might as well get your mind right.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter held still as Wade emptied the bowl.

“Stay.” Wade padded off to the kitchen and returned with both hands behind his back.

Peter cocked his head. “Daddy?”

“So now we get to the fun part.” Wade giggled as he held out the first hand with a pair of enormous googly eyes. He clapped one onto Peter’s ass cheek with flair, then the other, its location maddeningly asymmetric. “Now then. We’ll let you get rid of all those rolly-pollies… after you come.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“By riding on this!” Wade brought out the other hand, producing an inflated monstrosity: a bouncy ball, big enough to have a horizontal handle as wide as the smaller man’s chest, with a long but thankfully narrow dildo in the seat.

“Um, Daddy?” That thing was broader than Wade’s back. How the hell did he hide it behind his bulk?

“You’ll just hafta do your best, baby.” His shark’s grin again set Peter on edge. “Don’t worry if you fail, Daddy has you covered. So very covered.”

Peter took the ball and sized it up warily, concerned that it might continue breaking the laws of physics even after Wade released it. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy,” he parroted from rote repetition. The damned thing was huge and unwieldy; seriously not an item to disappear behind someone’s back, no matter how large Wade was. “But, Daddy, how?”

“Want Daddy to lube it up and help you aboard?”

Not how he intended the question, Peter shrugged. If that was the best offer he was getting… “Yes, Daddy?”

“You don’t sound very sure, baby boy? Is this one of those things Daddy’s brave boy wants to do for himself?” Wade cooed in the saccharine cajole typically reserved for toddlers.

Peter cringed, loathing that tone. “No, Daddy. Please help me.” With a smack, instant fire blazed across his ass. “Your boy! Your boy! Please help your boy!”

“That’s better. And I’m always glad to help my boy.” True to his word, Wade had the obscenity lubed and in place before Peter could fully process the concept. “That’s still a spanking.”

Peter whimpered as he gave a test bounce against his body weight. “So full, Daddy.”

Against his ear, the bigger man answered in a husky, intimate, menacing whisper, “That’s the idea, baby boy. What part of punishment did you not understand?”

Grumbling from the discomfort, he replied, “The part where I puke up colorful balls after you’ve shoved them … and this godawful whatever-the-fuck … up my ass.”

“You’re so going over my knee next.”

The cooed threat left Peter straining against his cage. “Yes, Daddy; sorry, Daddy.”

“Oh, you will be.”

“May your boy have his cage off for this?” he asked, adding the doe eyes for effect.

“Of course, sweetie Petey!” However Wade didn’t reach for the key. “Once Daddy’s had his fill of watching you dribble.”

This was hell. No other solution could explain how he was filled to the brim with a rainbow of tiny balls, a pair of googly eyes adhered to his ass, while he had to get himself off while caged with only a phallic bouncy ball to help. Peter wasn’t quite certain when he died, but this was definitely the realm of eternal punishment for his sins.

And Wade had his phone out taping this.

Because it wouldn’t be a punishment without adding a little extra humiliation.

“Daddy, every time your boy mistakes you for a reasonable human being, you have been rather gleeful in reminding him exactly how wrong he was.”

“Aw, flattery will get you nowhere, my sweet, but it is nice to hear I’m still the unreasonable madman you love and cherish.” Wade could barely contain his mirth as he commanded, “Keep both hands on the safety handle.”

Dammit, did he have to make it impossible? “Yes, Daddy.”

“Get hopping.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Dialing it in, Peter did as instructed. Reluctantly. Sullenly.

“Holy fuck, Pouty Petey wasn’t supposed to be that cute. Now I wish I’d brought a lipstick to draw on a pretty smile to fuck.” He half-heartedly swiped overhead. “Maybe so but we don’t have the right glue… Just because it’s not really eyeballs doesn’t make superglue skin friendly… Okay, you do have a point, but I don’t think field medics have used it since then.” Wade’s attention fell on Peter. “Nah, let’s wait on that for Thart Therapy Thursday…” He emitted a small, shrill shriek. “What do you mean, this is Thursday…? Dammit, White, we missed therapy again. Patches ain’t gonna be happy.”

Each bounce pounded Peter’s ass in a hopelessly haphazard fashion. He had to try, but he harbored serious reservations about the actual possibility of success. It certainly resembled zero, but was that an asymptote as effort neared infinity or a real zero?

The beads moved and shifted.

Holy hell, the little bastards were spreading. Sure, the Jingle Beads had weights inside that moved, but these beads, the entire mass spread out, flowed the wrong way, moved deeper into his body.

Even though the sensation of the beads working through his flexures made him wig, Peter gave a go at finding release. He did. Yet the entire effort accomplished nothing beyond amusing his sadistic owner.

Peter curled a hand over his collar. “Daddy, may your boy rock on the dildo ball instead?”

“So long as my baby boy keeps his hands where they belong.”

Rocking on the toy he could only muster a whimper in reply.

“Ooh, looks like my baby boy likes the way that feels, rubbing up against his teensie tinesie p-spot.”

“’M not teensie.”

“But baby’s little pleasure button sure is.” Wade flashed that smirk again, the one Peter loved and hated in equal measure.

That preposterous man-child still made flames race across Peter’s cheeks. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Hold still, baby.” Wade sighed, wistful and content, before freeing Peter’s crowded, aching erection.

Peter’s protest against the infantilization died on his lips. “So much better.”

“Mmm, yeah, and look at the way he’s grinding at the handle.” The giant asshole cackled on his way to the kitchen. “Be right back, pookie-kins.” He continued cackling as he returned, another bowl of hydrogel beads in hand.

_Nope, nope, nope, nopity, nope._

Peter rutted frantically. He ground harder into the handle, getting just enough friction to tease but not quite enough to find release. His pulse thundered in his ears, but that heat along the edges of his face refused to race over the rest of his skin. “Please, please, please…” He strained, he fought, he begged. Still hard as a post but unable to find release, he blinked to Wade.

“Time to either shoot off or assume the position, baby boy.”

“Fine. Dammit.” Sulking Peter wriggled free of the ball, then put his ass on display again.

That pathetic whine could not possibly have come from him, but it provided the perfect soundtrack for his blue balls and pitiful neediness. He wouldn’t defy Wade, but damn if he didn’t yearn for three full minutes of playing tug-o-war with the cyclops. He missed jerking off in the shower, slick with soap and comfortably aroused.

This desperation, torturously aware he’d be caged without even a ruined orgasm to tame the desire, Peter loathed it.

Leaning over the couch back, Wade placed the cold bowl in the small of Peter back, making a shiver run down his spine as his muscles pulled tight. “Mmm, love all those goosebumps, baby boy.” Dripping water, he pressed the next bead into his boy. It took him only a few minutes to empty the bowl, leaving Peter chilled. “Don’t go anywhere, my pet.”

“Yes, Daddy. Staying right here, Daddy.”

Peter managed to keep from pulling any hair out. Hey, at least he’d much rather endure this than admit to sleeping with the enemy. So long as this sacrifice bought time for White to earn some boxish brownie points, any punishment would be worth the effort. He hoped. Since future Peter would have to deal with the consequences of cheating on his lover in the most convoluted manner ever conceived.

That ol’ Parker luck, hard at work.

Then Wade sat a second cold bowl in the small of Peter’s back.

That might be a bit much. “Um, Daddy? I, uh, your boy… is very hesitant about this. Like all the hesitation ever.”

“Oh, Daddy knows. Daddy always knows.” He laughed heartily, before resuming his task of stuffing Peter with more chilly little balls of from the frozen pits of hell.

“Yet Daddy damned well does it anyway, knowing his boy will be shitting rainbows for a week.”

“Precisely, Petey-pie.” Once he emptied the bowl, he skipped off again. “Because what shits rainbows?”

“Unicorns.” Peter sighed, tracking the footsteps as his lover returned.

“Yes, exactly! And if I had to give up Peter’s Punishment Pyjamas™, then at the very least I can have my Petercorn.” With that something much larger though no less cold pressed against the smaller man’s muscular ring. “Open up, baby boy. What’s a unicorn without a glittery tail?”

Deep breaths. _You can do this._

So. Damn. Big. Did he have to go for extremes at every turn? The plug stung as it pried Peter open wider but didn’t yet pop through. He whimpered; his instincts screamed for him to pull away from the intrusion. Instead he panted and bore the strain until the widest section slid past, allowing his muscle to relax on the narrow stem. A double tug ensured it was seated properly, a sensation that teased a sinful moan from the younger man.

Wade flashed that damned self-satisfied smirk. “Ah, so it does feel good.”

“Yes, Daddy, your boy’s tail feels…” Peter whined, his focus shattered. “So full and needy.”

“Now for the horn and ears…” The big man slid the headband into place. “Oh, fuck me, you’re too cute that way.” He grabbed for his phone again. “Tell Daddy what a good little Petercorn you’ll be.”

“Yes, Daddy.” While playing up the innocence Peter swiveled a hip toward the camera, certain he looked totally wrecked. “I’ll, er, Daddy’s boy will be a very good Petercorn for Daddy.” When Wade didn’t relent, he continued in a rush, “He likes being Daddy’s good boy, even when it’s hard and even when it’s weird and even when he’s stuffed full of rainbows and given his tail and horn and ears.” He blinked helplessly at the lifeless lens that recorded his debauched state. Licking his lips, he moaned a bit to indicate he’d said everything he could think to say.

Yet Wade was still recording. So he must want something more.

“Um, Daddy, is Petercorn code for pony play?” _Peter, you idiot._ With great foot-in-mouth comes great effort to keep from choking.

“It… wasn’t.” Motionless, no doubt stunned by Yellow’s reaction, Wade stayed frozen long enough that Peter poked him with a finger. “But damned if it isn’t now.”

Flushed the younger man protested, though weakly, “We don’t have a cart. Or a saddle.”

“Hey, ceiling lady, play the Rawhide theme.” Wade pawed at a pile of goodies that had been in his recovery room. He came back with the pair of coiled bullwhips, one black and red, the other black and blue. “I don’t have a carriage whip, but as you’ve pointed out, oh so helpfully, I also don’t have a carriage.” He giggled madly. “But those thighs are about to know the meaning of cherval.”

Wade gave a double cluck. “C’mon, little Petercorn.” Using Peter’s collar as a halter, he guided the smaller man to a support beam. “Does Daddy have to bind his Petercorn in place or will his hotblooded stallion stand for his punishment?”

After a dozen tiny, frantic nods, Peter replied, “Your Petercorn will stand and take it, Daddy.”

Wade kicked his boy’s legs further apart until they met at a full ninety-degree angle at his crotch. Apparently satisfied, he stepped back. Both whips hit the floor, leather unfurling toward Peter. The first cracks landed by his feet. “You ready for the meat of your punishment, Cherval?” After a pause to snicker, he cracked the second whip near Peter’s other foot. “Worst name for a unicorn ever. Gonna have to name him better before we correct him… Well, no, Petercorn is a what, not a who…”

Once they settled their debate, Wade asked, “Alright, Rainbow, you ready for a little raw hide across those luscious thighs?”

Hands stuck to the beam to compensate for the open leg stance, Peter pawed with the pad of his left foot.

A wheeze indicated that he’d hit home with that one. It gave way to a breathless huff, which chuffed into a cackle, and then Wade was on the floor, rolling and laughing.

“What?” Peter gasped at his boyfriend. “You said pony play!”

“But I didn’t think you’d do it! It wasn’t even on the list!” Wade howled, slapping the padded and carpeted floor so hard Peter hoped the downstairs neighbor wasn’t home. “I mean, that head bob thing, well, it could be mistaken’ed for nerves, but the foot and the stomp and the Petercorn! Oh, Rainbow Petey-kins, you’re killing me!”

In a move of utmost maturity Peter stuck out his tongue at his owner.

“Wait just one damned second…” On his feet in a blink, Wade surrounded his boy on all fronts at once. “Pony play wasn’t even on the list, Rainbow.”

“Um, are you certain?” _Every damned thing else and the kitchen sink was on that list!_

“Oh, I’m very certain I know my own kinks.” Wade snorted. “Maybe we shoulda looked into that spider saddle a little harder? So every time we got a Spidey-back ride…?”

“Um? You’re the one who keeps jabbing me.” Peter took an anxious step back. Heart stuttering, flames engulfing his face and scorching down his chest, he drew the thinnest trickle into his locked down lungs. When he finally got his inner world under control, he added in a croak, “More like I just thought the tack was _ooh shiny_.”

“So my bit gag?”

Peter crossed his arms, firm in his stance on the subject. “Plain. Plastic.”

“True, we never had him pegged as a _vaquero_ type.” Wade ran hand up Peter’s flank, the touch expert enough to leave him certain the man had bought and sold flesh before, whether horse or otherwise, he didn’t care to consider.

Mortified at his own urge to be brutally honest, Peter asked, “Have… have you ever seen a Lipizzaner perform?”

“Damn, baby boy, when you go, you go big.” He took a moment to blink at his beloved, apparently impressed. “The Spanish Riding School in Vienna is still one of the most amazing places I’ve ever skulked, and not one of those massive grays holds a candle to you. Hell, not even the lucky bay stallion.”

“With my strength it kinda sounded fun. Doable, if you will. Though I figured I’d never have anyone to play naughty pony with.”

After a respectfully solemn moment of stroking his chin in exaggerated deep thought, Wade nodded. “So let me make certain I understand this perfectly: Rainbow hasn’t invested anything in the fetish, just made note that he might enjoy the pomp and pageantry of being put through some exquisitely impossible paces while draped in pretty tack?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter hid his loopy smile behind a hand.

“So is that a firm no on the buckaroo and bullwhips?”

“Depends, Daddy. Your boy will do the _vaquero_ routine for your amusement.” He raised a brow. “Anything to keep you rolling on the floor, laughing your ass off.”

Wade glared overhead. “Maestoso…? How is that a better name for a unicorn…? So what if it means majestic…? So what’s the other one…? Bleh. Neopolitano? Ultra-bleh. Most confusing ice cream ever… Fine, you’re right about that.” He shrugged. “I hate changing their names; it always confuses the little guys…”

Peter, still filled to the gills with water beads, needed to get this punishment moving forward again sometime in the next eon or three. “For now, Rainbow is perfect, Daddy. You can discuss the rest with your boy later?”

“Tell that to White! He’s the one who’s giving me the entire bloodline of all two thousand Lipizzaners.”

“White, will you save that for monster time next Wednesday? Your Peter would love this discussion so much more than Daddy.” And damned if that didn’t feel good.

“Whatever you just did to him, he floated off in a burst of butterflies and rainbows, the likes of which even Yellow and I haven’t imagined.”

“That wasn’t me; it was your boy’s healthy boundaries.” _Oops. Big mouth._

Wade wasn’t stupid; he instantly put together that White would not be enjoying Wednesday if his boy had spilled the box’s secret.

To keep this from spiraling, Peter sidled up against the bigger man. “He’s happy; your boy is overjoyed; and not a single thing of any substance has changed.” He nuzzled into his lover’s jaw. “Let White have this moment of happiness. Punish your boy and call it good enough.”

By the end of that spiel, Wade had half his hairless brow ridge cocked in skepticism, but he broke into an indulgent grin. “Your wish, baby boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

That grin instantly turned jagged and treacherous. “Oh, how shall I hurt my Petey-pie? Lemme count the ways: We have some time with the bullwhips. We have your afterwork correction. We have two punishments for all those slips with the pronouns. And then…” He cocked a finger to motion his boy closer.

Peter put his ear right to his lover’s lips.

“And then, after your patrol, after your beddie-bye spanking, after your fap roulette, when it’s all done…” Low and sultry, Wade chuckled as he nibbled the delicate shell. “Then I’ll finish filling my boy and let him shed all those beads. Because I’m a petty bastard, and even if I said you two could have your secret, I don’t damned like it.”

“So much for hurrying things along to get rid of them…” He still kissed the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Show me,” his lover practically purred. “Show me how grateful you are.”

He slithered down the big man’s body until he reached his knees. A gentle nuzzle roused the ex-merc’s erection.

Wade slid a hand into his hair and pulled it taut, guiding the smaller man to meet his harsh, amused gaze. “Let me see you cry, baby.”

All doe-eyed innocence, Peter blinked up at the man who’d claimed him. Never breaking eye contact, he wrapped both hands around his lover’s cock. He swirled his tongue along the shaft before sealing his lips over the tip. The gentlest affection drew eager pants that quickly gave way to wanton moans. That fist in his hair pulled tight and encouraged him to swallow deeper, until Wade was fucking his throat, taking him, choking him. Gravel rattled in the bigger man’s choppy grunts as his pace quickened, his harsh, cruel thrusts propelled with a vicious fervor until he spasmed over the younger’s tongue.

Passive, Peter allowed his lover to take as he wanted, expecting nothing in return but grateful nonetheless. That still, quiet place inside him reveled in the giving, pleased to be used and useful, to be of service, to be wanted. That sensation thrived in this moment, but he sensed how easily it might shatter if neglected or taken for granted, how it might kick and scream, how it might burn down all its own supports to scorched earth if wounded.

No wonder Wade’s relationships tended toward dramatic meltdowns and violent outbursts. His drive for affection above all else would be hard to appease in the long term and near impossible to protect during intense disagreements.

Sitting on his feet, Peter peered up in awe. “You make all of this look easy.”

***

Peter dropped to his pillow, absolutely wrung out from the suckage of a full day of punishment with very little sex to temper the misery. The tidy lines of _X_s that the bullwhips left down his thighs still stung, particularly after the third spanking over Wade’s fancy handiwork.

But these damned beads? He’d cut patrol short because they outright sloshed as he swung.

“You wanna lay over the edge of the bed or the arm of the couch?” Wade asked.

_Neither. _“Arm of couch, Daddy.” At least the couch provided enough support for his hips.

“Meet you there.” As he headed for the kitchen Wade snickered softly. “See, Daddy can be reasonable.”

“Mmm-hmm, it was entirely reasonable to bring home the other two—count them, two—bowls of hydrogel beads from the Tower.”

That drew a full-on belly laugh from the man. “Oh, no, I have millions of these little suckers. I was wondering what to do with them.”

Peter gasped in horror. “No! No, Daddy, your boy’s calling shenanigans! You can’t just—you just fuckin’ can’t.”

“Is that a challenge?” Wade asked as he sat yet another cold-ass bowl in the trough of Peter’s back.

“Is that a pineapple?” Peter’s glare was no warmer.

“Point taken.” Wade maneuvered so he could see Peter’s face. “So is this a future pineapple or a present pineapple?”

Peter snarked, “Hopefully it’s a banana with self-esteem issues and a spiked collar.”

With a snort, Wade took the cold bowl back to the kitchen. “I need house plants. Lots of house plants.” Still snickering, probably fighting the urge to bust a gut laughing, he returned with a palm pressed into one eye socket. He threw his free arm up in dramatic imitation of a wounded man fending off a killing blow. “Did you have to murder my last functional brain cell? What did he ever do to you, Petey-pie? What?”

“Wade, that brain cell put another frosty-ass bowl of hydrogel on your boy’s back and expected no retaliation after keeping your boy stuffed with these things all day. Are you certain it was functional?”

The bigger man tapped an index finger to his lip. “You make a salient point.”

“Salient?” Peter snorted at the five-dollar word. “By the way, all-day water bead enema?” Glazed deadpan stare, Peter hoped to convey his full exasperation with this day. “Definite ten out of ten on the sheer misery scale, would distinctly prefer to avoid this punishment again.”

“Good to know.” Wade radiated enough satisfaction to resurrect a slew of curious cats. “High suckage factor, you say?”

“After a full day, your boy is absolutely done. No more.”

“Okay, _no mas_.” He edged closer, wrapped his arms around Peter, and pulled him into a back-to-chest hug that lifted his feet from the floor. “Daddy always has other ideas.”

“Rainbow is out of the water bead smuggling business.” Content to be held, Peter sighed as his heavy eyelids fell shut. “Make it worth all the suffering, Daddy.”

“Your wish, my scrumptious little snickerdoodle.” Wade laid him out on his back. “Just relax. Daddy’s got you.” Key in lock, he freed Peter’s cock.

When those big hands brushed over Peter’s erection, they felt off. He glanced down: white gloves. Right, as his ass surely still explained, his inspection was overdue, just another excuse to make him blush.

For right now, Wade hummed contentedly to himself, but that wouldn’t last.

“Let’s see if you’re good and ready for Daddy.” Wade pressed a cotton-clad finger inside his boyfriend, seeking out the bb of his prostate.

His success brought Peter to panting, quivering, pleading though he could voice only moans. Want permeated every cell, urgent in its demands. He writhed, fucking himself on that lone finger, enough stimulation to make his need sharp and greedy.

A savage growl seeped from Wade, their faces only a foot apart. “’M gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” The thumb of his ungloved hand pressed against a clavicle as the fingers wrapped back and around, leaving Peter to feel tiny in his grip. “You’re gonna feel me for days.”

Heady anticipation rippled through Peter. He reached for his owner’s still clothed groin, only to have his wrist snagged, losing the tease of that hand on his neck. “Please, Daddy, need you inside me.”

Finally, after a day of animalistic growls and grumbles, Wade’s tone softened to that husky, sexy, amused rumble Peter adored so much. “But, baby, I am inside you.” To accentuate his point, he worked through the tug and drag of adding a second finger into the younger man.

Thigh spasming rhythmically of its own accord, Peter whimpered as he raised his ass. “You said you’d make it all better. Please, Daddy, ’m hurting.”

Wade laughed, full and sadistic. “You aren’t hurting yet.” He pulled free of Peter and studied his glove. “Mmm, seems our little Rainbow Cherval is just brimming with pastel sparkles.” Once he’d stripped he caged Peter in with that big, powerful body, surrounding him, the move dominating if not outright intimidating.

Submitting, Peter moaned in pure gratification, baring his neck for effect. “Please, Daddy, need you so much.”

With one meaty paw the ex-merc rolled his smaller lover to his stomach. “Pushy boys get fucked extra hard.” He straddled Peter’s hips, teasing with a barely there brush of his tip against his boy’s sensitive ring, leaving the younger no choice but to chase the sensation. “Poor baby, so needy.”

“So needy,” Peter echoed. One hand found his shoulder, forced his body into a deep, unnatural curve. The other pushed at the small of his back, shoving him into the mattress. He gasped and spasmed as Wade breached his body. “So full.” That first hard thrust drew out a protracted moan of pleasure and pain. “So good.” Oh yes, this made life worth the hardships.

Their apartment melted from his vision, replaced with white flashes as his eyes fluttered. Air hissed between his teeth. His face ached, the muscles tightening with the rigor of his little death.

Untouched, that first spasm sent a jet of come across the bed spread as the world went white.

Then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Please don’t try a hydrogel enema without further inquiry. Improper salinity can cause kidney damage.
> 
> (In addition to being fiction) Wade has a hydrometer marked at blood-neutral for the bath salts Peter compounded to match Ringer’s solution, his much preferred option to Wade stealing enough sterile IV fluid to fill a tub.
> 
> And I quote: “You son of a barnacle, the hospital needs those to keep us mere mortals alive! Dagnabbit, Deadpool, put those back, and I’ll bring everything you need to whatever crap box you’re crashing in this week. Just text an address and give me an hour.” He sighed the sigh of the heavily put upon before adding, “You’re lucky I was raised to have mercy on beasts and children, even if I can’t decide which one you are.”
> 
> Peter was also raised better than to curse in the suit, but Wade has that effect on people.


	27. Day 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the 10-foot spider incident and sex scene of the day are fleshed a tad more fully now. The third scene has some all new material, when Peter meets Weasel. Then White makes an appearance to tease you about tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you’ve gotta reread 177k words because you forgot where you left off before you got busy busy busy for a bit. So sorry it got strung out, but I didn't want you to wait however long before I could wrangle this one into acceptable shape.

“So what are we doing?” Tony asked from the doorway.

Without a second thought or a glance up, Peter replied, “Wasting our lives.”

“I meant about your boyfriend — are you okay?”

Bruce’s head rose only long enough to reply, “He’s been like this since yesterday.”

Simultaneously Peter asked, “What about my boyfriend?”

“Of course neither of you have your notifications set. Why would I ever think otherwise?” Once inside the room, he closed the door. “Deadpool is currently… Oh, just look.” He tapped his phone, then handed it over.

Video from five minutes ago showed Wade between a row of police and a red-and-blue spider that must have been ten feet tall. “Get back! No one is hurting my pookiekins!” He turned to the hairy beast, which snapped him up in its pedipalps and pulled him toward its mouth. “Don’t you worry, my sweet; we’ll fix this, and even if we can’t, I’ll always love you, my spidery darling!”

Peter shut his eyes, intent on counting to ten so his mortification could calm, but before he made it halfway, he started to chuckle. “I think I can handle that pretty easily.” He returned Tony’s phone before fishing out his own.

It rang twice before Wade answered, “Petey?”

“Yes, Wade. I’m at work, nothing strange here except footage of you declaring your undying love to some spider hussy.”

“Oh, thank all the gods that be. That booty is still pretty bedonakable, but that face would take a minute to get used to after your angelic visage.” A single gunshot made Peter jerk back from the phone. “Besides that guy was trying to violate me in nonsexy ways, Petey-pie. Very nonsexy.”

“Killed the spider?”

“You know it. I only want one Spidey violating me. In sexy ways or not.”

Peter snickered softly. “If there’s nothing else, I have to get back to work.”

“Oh, I always want more, but I guess I can wait until you bring that sexy ass home before I start raisin’ it up and waxin’ it down.” He trilled a high squee. “Yellow, that’s absolutely the perfect evil for tonight.”

The line went dead in Peter’s hand. He shoved his phone into his pocket before looking up. Stark’s smirk was not however directed at him. He followed the man’s gaze to find Dr. Banner gaping at him. “Um…? May I help you?”

Bruce snapped his mouth closed before replying, “You’re the acrobat in the spider suit?”

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Peter glanced to Stark, whose smirk had only grown.

Brow raised, Tony replied, “You said to forget that conversation ever happened.” The older engineer buttoned his mouth and tossed an imaginary key before winking.

“I didn’t think you actually would.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Peter whistled faintly. “Okay, gotta admit, I’m impressed. I figured you’d at least talk to Dr. Banner before exposing him to Deadpool’s boyfriend.”

“Does explain a lot,” Bruce muttered before he turned back to his work.

Stark grumbled, “Explains a buttload, like why Abomination was destroying my ducts,” then headed out the door.

“Great, I just outted myself to a coworker. Perfect.” But Peter returned to quantifying the electromagnetic radiation of his newest textile, a self-illuminating, movement-powered vinyl polymer to increase visibility for people working near traffic. The last one emitted less ultraviolet b than sunlight but could still burn skin after seven hours. This one he expected to be safe against skin for at least double that daily.

His mind however repeatedly dissected the lyrics of Frank Zappa’s Montana, spiraling into a dizzying array of options for what Yellow might have thought up: dental floss bondage, hot wax, a claustrophobic little white box, pygmy pony play, zircon-encrusted tweezer clamps. No matter how useless the effort, he couldn’t help himself.

***

Before Peter fully entered the door, Wade called out, “Wanna play a little game, my sweet baby fluffernutter?”

“Yes, Daddy.” The reply came without thought, so Peter doubled down on the sentiment. Expression doe-eyed and sweet, he sucked lewdly on his bottom lip to draw Wade’s attention. In open wonder, he added a breathy, “Please, Daddy?”

Wade clutched his chest. “Fuck, baby boy, you gotta stop that if you don’t wanna give Daddy a massive coronary.”

Satisfied Peter teased, “Of course not, Daddy. Then you couldn’t make your boy feel all fizzy inside.”

Wade snorted at his charade of innocence. “Since you’re not gonna shut that murder hole before you unalive me, I guess Yellow’s right: we need to seal it up tight.” With one hand he seized Peter’s ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. He brushed the opposite thumb coarsely across that plumped and sensitized lip. “Gotta have some defense against such a perfect weapon.” That hand shot down his body to grab his cock through his pants. Too rough and too abrupt, the contact drew a surprised gasp. “Take all that snark and sass away. Leave you so deliciously helpless.”

When Wade’s hot breath broke over the back of Peter’s neck, his urgent whimper ended on a sigh.

“Strip.”

At the hard command he flushed from his disobedience of being dressed indoors. He hurried to peel every stitch from his body.

“Kneel.”

Clothing in hand, Peter turned back from the washer to drop into position facing his owner.

“Open.”

He obeyed without thought, still clutching his clothes.

While brushing his cockhead along Peter’s lips, Wade returned to his usual rambling. “Figure it’s best to get the use outta that decadent mouth before we close it up tight, see if you can keep it sealed.” He snorted as he pressed inside. “Gonna make you take so much, baby boy. Make those tears well up and run down those rosy cheeks. All without a peep. Not even a moan or a gasp.”

Whining around his lover’s cock, Peter flicked his tongue under the head to show his enthusiasm.

“That rev your engine, baby boy? Being forced into silence while you’re hard used? Like you were born to take Daddy’s cock? Want all your choices taken so all you have to do is endure? …Nah, White’s right; he wants Daddy to see what a good boy he is, wants to be well rewarded for being such a darling little spiderling… Oh, we’ll use him until he shatters all right….”

A spasm jolted through Peter’s core, and his cock rose to full attention. To be used by his owner, all rough sex and devoted passion, nothing made his heart race with the same fervor. He remembered being afraid of such intense and often cruel treatment, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall why he’d dreaded it since the pleasures more than made up for the pain. Sure, in the moment he might hate many of the ways the bigger man destroyed him, but after his lover pulled him back together, he felt nothing shy of invincible.

While Wade’s monolog continued Peter wrapped both arms around those thick thighs and encouraged the harsh thrusts that left him breathless in more ways than one. He wanted to be desired and taken by this man, and in exchange he offered his complete surrender, grateful for how hard Wade had worked to secure his trust.

For his part Wade clasped Peter’s hair but allowed his boy to take as he pleased. He never protested being brought to the edge but denied release. By the time Peter tasted his blood through his lips, he realized his owner would never whimper and beg for more while in the dominant role. So the smaller man took to his task with gusto.

With trembling hands on either side of his boy’s head, Wade forced him back. “Unh-uh-uh, little spider muffin, you only get a little taste of what’s to come.” What the breathy words lacked in delivery, they more than made up for in gravity.

Sullen, Peter peered up at his bleary form. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Go lay on the bed… Right, supine… Nah, I’ll do the correction after.” Despite his furrowed brow the bigger man hummed softly as he padded across the room.

Not a good time to stand and stare in wonder at his lover, Peter hurried to obey.

Facing away from the door, at the foot of the bed, hands secured under him, he tracked Wade’s footsteps to the kitchen. The microwave ran for less than a minute, stopped, and resumed, only to be disrupted again and again. _So wax._ That was the connection to the song Montana: wax. Knowing Yellow’s rapid-fire and disjointed thoughts, it would be the only connection. Fighting the urge to rub his eyes, maybe squeeze the bridge of his nose, he tried to ignore his annoyance at not catching on sooner, but wax play sounded far too tame for one of Yellow’s ideas.

“And put a pillow under your knees,” Wade stated, not bothering to raise his voice, well aware he’d be heard over the background of the city.

“Yes, Daddy.”

By the time the smaller man resumed his position, caged cock now glaringly vulnerable, Wade stood in the doorway, his slow and even breaths punctuated by suppressed snickers while delight danced in his eyes.

“Daddy will you remind your boy to be honest, respectful, obedient, and mindful?”

“Baby boy, it’s my eternal divine pleasure to thrash that bubble butt to a glowing cherry moon, then drill my point home til you can’t think of anything else. Always glad to help my boy pretend to be tame. But you’ve had it way too easy lately. When was the last time bootcamp pushed you to your limits?”

Peter had no answer to that.

Low with menace his lover growled, “Not rhetorical. Answer me.”

“Sorry, Daddy. I don’t know.” A spike of terror shot through him. “Daddy? Don’t hurt me.” The words fell in a choked whisper. His eyes brimmed.

“Peter.”

Hot shame cut through him, and the tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Dammit, Peter, look’t me.”

That wasn’t a command from his owner but a plea from the man he loved. He expended a ridiculous level of grit in forcing himself to contort until he met his boyfriend’s concerned, lashless gaze. A pair of scars had pulled open on one side of his bald head, as if affirming that Peter’s lack of trust hurt Wade.

His lips pressed into a thin, motionless line while he waited for the younger man to focus. “The instant you aren’t having fun, the game is over.” He sighed. “Say it.”

“If I’m not having fun, the game is done.”

“Hmph, Mr. Rhymy McRhymerson.” He shuffled forward and knelt, placing his big, heavy head on his boy’s abdomen. “’M gonna be glad to hand the reins back to you come Wednesday.”

“I keep forgetting that.” Peter wrapped his fingers loosely in his collar. “You know I spent the first week plotting my revenge but now I can’t imagine domming you into full submission. This has been a hell of a ride.” He gave a thoughtful hum. “Can kinky sex be addicting?”

A hearty laugh bubbled from Wade as he turned to press his dry lips to his lover’s, repeating the motion with ever more exaggerated smacks before he pulled away. “Daddy’s little adrenaline junkie enjoying himself?”

Peter’s mind settled into that peaceful acceptance. “Yes, Daddy.” A shiver ran down his spine. “Please correct your boy.” He blinked with the mock innocence the bigger man adored. “Make it hurt.”

Wade chuffed with a hint of amusement. “Oh, so now you _want_ Daddy to hurt you?”

“Yes, Daddy. Please. More than anything.” Peter gnawed on the fleshy thickness of his thumb.

“Kiss your girl, Petey-pie.” Once he’d obeyed, two large fingers brushed along his bit lip while Wade leered down. “Get ’em nice and wet.”

“Like this, Daddy?” He wrapped his tongue around one, then the other, drawing a hitching gasp from the bigger man. “Or maybe this is better.” He sucked both into his mouth, reveling in the way his boyfriend threw his head back to groan.

“Oh, right!” Wade turned his attention to his lover as he flipped his hand to stroke over his boy’s soft palate.

At that strange tickling motion, Peter blinked up in question.

“We’d better seal that up now if we wanna have any fun. Otherwise I’m just gonna fuck you stupid and fall back asleep.” Against the suction Wade pulled his fingers free with a pop before doing the same with Peter’s plug.

Caught mid-laugh, comfortably hot wax drizzled onto the corner of Peter’s mouth. He froze, allowing the man he loved to silence him. So intent on being perfectly motionless, he forgot those fingers until one breached his ring of muscle, making him gasp out his nose.

“Unh-uh-uh, quiet, baby boy.” Wade shoved the second finger inside him and tapped at his prostate. “Don’t wanna ruin the fun before we even get started!”

Peter was in heaven. Every cell in his body sang with pleasure and the expectation of more. He willed his cock to remain down, let him enjoy the pampering before the pain, but it refused to listen to reason, stubbornly tugging his testacles from his body.

“Daddy has a treat for his boy.” Well aware of the younger man’s discomfort, Wade tapped the cage, intensifying the sensation. “Provided you don’t break the seal until after your correction.”

Already fighting the urge to pant, Peter nodded his understanding. Before he sensed the movement, arms shoved under him, beside the pillow under his knees and the one under his head. A squeal of surprise brimmed in his chest, but he managed to keep his jaw clenched as he was slung over his boyfriend’s shoulder.

The first loud smack of Peter’s Punishment Paddle jolted him, locked him into the present as Wade lit a fire in his backside. Helpless as the pain intensified from that general heat to a bone-deep agony, he kicked and squirmed in his lover’s grip.

“Squirmy boys don’t get a treat,” Wade cautioned with a jovial lilt.

Jaw still clenched Peter managed to go limp, accepting the pain as the price for the high. While chaos rained down on his body, his perfect control never wavered. He could do anything if one of Daddy’s treats awaited him on the far side of his trial. Mind high above the madness, he acknowledged the misery, let it wash over him.

That pain stayed well ahead of his endorphins, leaving him helpless and weak, wordlessly sobbing against his lover’s back. The blows continued, an endless rain of searing fire. Pleas for mercy turned shrill in his mind as his babbling thoughts gained a desperate, cutting tone.

His safeword danced at the edge of his consciousness. But no, he could do this. He would. With no justification, sheer stubborn will kept his safeword on the tip of his tongue but never let it free.

Once the temptation to pineapple came and went, all that tension drained from his body as he floated over it, mind at ease. He’d forgotten about this place. How’d he forget? Senses overloaded to the point they shut down, the peaceful calm welcomed him with a soft, pleasant buzz.

As quickly as the violence began, it ended. Peter bounced at the foot of the bed, again confused but trusting and willing. From half-closed eyes, he watched through a haze of lust and hormones as Wade unlock his cage. One slow blink later and something resembling a finger oximeter sat clipped to the tip of his erection, a curiosity but nothing more until the vibrations started.

Peter almost yelped, instead forcing the air out his nose.

Then Wade yanked the pillow from under his knees and pressed his bulk between them. Cock slick, he opened his boy easily, taking every pleasure on offer. He thrust hard and fast before slowing, the pattern repeating until Peter’s mind screamed with his need. A slick hand teased along his cock as he rippled and flexed. With his release gathering power like a tidal wave, his core drew taut, every muscle tight as a bowstring. He huffed for air, suffocating, unseeing through wide eyes. Every cell buzzed from his ears to his toes.

With maddening accuracy Wade sawed the rough texture of his cock across his boy’s prostate, forcing Peter to convulse with each stroke. The fire in his abused backside leapt with each smack of Wade’s firm body against his ass and thighs. Overwhelmed by too much stimulation, he still craved more, enough to make him come. One hand cupped the curve of his groin, barely brushing against his cock.

Enticingly close to that moment of ecstasy, Peter couldn’t fight the need for more oxygen. One deep gasp, then two, and warm come shot between them.

“Just a few more, baby boy.”

Struggling to catch his breath, he nodded his assent even as his body went lax. For once Peter’s owner worked him through his orgasm, not leaving him needing more as his climax fell away.

A half-dozen slow strokes later, Wade issued a raspy shout. Tensed and frozen, his cock pulsed inside his boy. Load spent he dropped his massive weight as he too strained for air.

“Sorry, Daddy, I tried so hard.”

“Hmm?” The big man didn’t budge.

“I didn’t mean to breathe before Daddy said.”

“Oh, you precious gingersnap of sultry delights.” That got him chuckling again. “Daddy said you could break the seal as soon as your correction ended; just wanted to see how far you’d go before you caved.”

Peter punched him in the shoulder, but the blow lacked conviction.

“Go grab a shower, baby boy; I’ll get our clothes and be right behind you—mmm, your behind.” He shook himself from his thoughts. “We’re going out.”

“Oh? Where we going?” Peter asked as he force himself to stand on wobbly legs.

“I think it’s time you met Weas.” He let out a barking laugh. “Seems the author is completely ignoring Patient Zero.”

“Not gonna ask.”

“Prob’ly better that way.”

***

How did Wade talk him into sitting dead-center in the dankest, crappiest, most dangerous dive bar he’d ever seen? On more than one occasion Peter watched this dive for hours to trail a criminal as they left. He ran his fingers under his collar to feel it snug against his neck. The mercenaries in the bar eyed the twink in a dark-red low-cut tee and black skinny jeans like a light snack: something to be consumed whole, then immediately forgotten. He didn’t doubt for a second that he could put any or all of them in the hospital if need be, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Until footsteps approached him from behind. “Mmm, Tollie want a twinkie. Whacha say pretty boy, wanna meet Richard and the twins?”

Peter twisted around to find a thug grabbing the crotch of his cheap suit. Gray at the temples, a lightning bolt-shaped scar ran down one cheek. “Um….”_ Yes, very expressive, Parker._

The thug noticed Peter’s attention on the puckered mar. “Car battery. Still didn’t tell ’em where the bodies were buried. Mainly ’cause I burned ’em.” He laughed then, the sound thick and wet. “C’mon, Tollie will make it good, so good, you pretty thing.”

When the man landed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, he shied away, still hoping to avoid a confrontation. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Wade walked in the door, but instead of coming to Peter’s side, he took a seat at the bar, pretending they were strangers.

“Don’t pay that freak no mi—”

Barely suppressing his instincts, Peter twisted the man’s finger back against his wrist until he yelped. “If that’s your trigger finger, you might wanna put it somewhere safe. I’d hate for you to lose your livelihood over a misunderstanding.” When Tollie pulled back a fist, Peter gave the finger another crank, and the main joint snapped. “You have twenty-seven more finger joints; you sure you don’t wanna keep the rest intact?”

With catcalls all around, Tollie jerked his hand back. “Fuck you, you little slut; bet that thing’s all gaped wide and ate up with the clap.” Still he skulked away, cradling his broken trigger finger. “It’s alright Betty; I ain’t gonna let that cheap little whore hurt ya no more.”

“He’s right you know.”

Startled by the close proximity of Wade’s voice, Peter jerked around. “Right about what?”

“You’re the prettiest little twink, like, ever.” He turned the back of a chair to face Peter, waited for his boy’s nod to sit, then straddled it.

“I’m expecting a friend,” Peter stated blankly, nervous now that the roleplay had begun in earnest. He’d never been a successful liar, despite his best efforts, and he feared he’d only make a fool of them both.

“Your Daddy let you come in here all alone?” Mask at his nose Wade pulled it off and tossed back his drink before meeting his boy’s gaze.

Peter huffed out his nose, not certain his offense was entirely faked. “I can take care of myself.”

“So I saw.” Head barely inclined toward the bar where Tollie sat nursing a rocks and his trigger finger, Wade’s grin broadened to a crazed flash of teeth. “Care for a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” Peter confessed, though his lover well knew he metabolized alcohol too fast to catch a cheap buzz.

Wade snapped his fingers overhead as he twisted toward the bar. “Weas, two Shirley Temples.” Once the guy behind the bar grumbled and shot him the bird, the ex-merc again focused entirely on Peter. “So what brings you out on this dark and stormy night?”

“It’s bone dry, and the sun’s not set.” Peter studied Weasel: greasy, angsty, pasty, the guy didn’t inspire trust.

“Question still stands, baby boy.”

Focus back on his Daddy, he shrugged. “Curiosity.”

His older lover damned near cooed, “Looking for a little satisfaction to bring you back?”

Eyes on the floor, cheeks flaming, Peter muttered, “I, um… I don’t know. I haven’t…”

“Whassa matter, cutie, cat got your tongue?”

“I’ve never let a stranger pick me up in a bar,” he informed his shoes.

“Wade,” a nasal voice groaned out, drawing his gaze, “leave the kid alone.” Nonetheless Weasel handed the big man two drinks. “’Sides, ain’t you got that pretend boyfriend to consider?”

“We could have an open relationship.” Wade passed one of the fruity concoctions to Peter.

Weasel tucked a dirty blond lock behind his ear, grumbling, “Yeah, whatever you say. Just don’t scare off the paying customers, you gigantic asshole.”

“Now would I do that?”

The other man grimaced, “The kid’s a champ just for tolerating that pizza-avocado love child you call a face.”

Peter put his hands on the table, barely able to suppress his urge to rip the man’s head from his shoulders like just another doombot. “Hey, that’s a pretty shitty thing to say!”

“Whatever, kid. Just remember: One complaint and he’s outta here for the night. Can’t have him killin’ off business.” With that Weasel shuffled back toward the bar.

“He doesn’t seem to like you,” Peter commented, relaxing his jaw with effort before settling further back in his chair, feigning an air of mild disinterest. No wonder Wade hadn’t introduced them sooner.

“Just a game we play.” With easy deflection, his boyfriend asked, “Care to dance, baby boy?”

Nervous, he cupped a hand over his shoulder. “No, Da—dice.” He barely caught himself. “I’d rather sit and talk. If that’s alright?”

“No problemo. What you wanna talk about? And you can call me Wade.”

“Well, Wade…” Peter paused to smirk. “You can call me anything you like, even Maybe.”

“No real boyfriend is gonna put up with you hitting on every pretty thing that walks in this bar, much less let you chase Spider-man’s spandex-clad ass all over the city,” Weasel yelled from the bar. “If you don’t produce that photographer in seventy-two hours, I’m taking that grand outta your next paycheck.”

“You know Spider-man?” Peter asked in a fair imitation of gobsmacked. “What’s he like?”

Indulgent, Wade grinned at the obvious prompt for a compliment. “He’s a good guy, the best. Once he helped me on a non-unaliving job but refused his half of the payment since the mark got himself unalived anyway.”

“So, what, did you give his half to his favorite charity or something?”

“I wish. He never told me what to do with it.”

“Hmm, I’d bet he supports the Parker Foundation. Even after Parker Industries fell through, it’s still a viable charity.” Peter poured on the doe eyes, feeling half his age. “Wait, photographer? Parker was Spider-man’s personal photographer for years. Is that who you’re dating?”

“And that’s why he lets me chase Spider-man’s delectable booty all over the Big Apple.”

“Okay, but won’t he be mad that you’re talking to me?” He smirked widely, amused by this turn.

“Nah, Maybe baby, I can talk to anyone I want.”

A brow rose. “Oh really? And does he let you call just anyone baby?”

Wade waved off the concern. “Force of habit.”

To avoid questioning that too closely, Peter asked, “So what would he think if you held my hand?” He slid his palm under his lover’s, where it rested on the table.

“That might be pushing it a bit.” Nonetheless, the ex-merc tightened his grip. “But I think he’ll forgive me after he sees how gorgeous you are.”

“Hey, ’m more than a pretty face! Is that all it’d take to get you to cheat on Mr. Parker?”

“Nah, just all it’d take to drag some cutie home to see if Petey-pie’d like to share ’em like a banana split.”

Scandalized Peter gasped before he could consider the idea. “What makes you think he’d be okay with that?”

“He’s already dating the three of me.” Wade shrugged off the concern, then leaned forward, his grin dazzling. “Once I talk him into a threesome, he’d enjoy sucking a pretty cock while I ride him.”

“Glad you know him so well.” Playing up the wide-eyed innocence, Peter ran his hand along the back of his neck and glanced away shyly. “That sounds really nice, but it’s not how I imagined my first time.”

His boyfriend gawped, caught out by the idea. “Oh, sweet mother of Spider-man himself, I’d be honored to punch your v-card.” His nose scrunched. “But what about your Daddy?”

“I didn’t say anything about a Daddy; that was all you.”

Wade pulled back, his expression just shy of hurt. “So you’re single?”

“I didn’t say that either.” Peter stroked the bigger man’s hand soothingly.

Ever since Wade sat down, ceaseless murmurs commented on the unfairness of the twink’s interest in Deadpool. Eyes flickered to them but soon darted away. All except Weasel’s. Peter never caught him looking, but the sensation of the bartender’s gaze never wavered.

Wade’s smirk twinkled in the faint neon light. “Wow, I’m not single; you’re not single; what a coincidence! It’s like the universe wants us to be together!” The opening notes of Van Halen’s California Girls poured from the jukebox, bringing Yellow to the surface. “Forget about Spider-man, sweet thang, I’ll be your-man.”

Peter couldn’t help but grin at the cheesy line.

Before he could think up a witty reply, Yellow continued, “Make that next earthquake so good you forget about the first time I rocked your world. And the second. And the third. By the time the sun comes up, you’ll be a seasoned pro, ready to service top with the best of us.”

Despite the randy huskiness and light tone of Yellow’s flirtation, _service top_ rang like an accusation in Peter’s mind; he’d been neglecting Wade’s inner sub while discovering his own. Vowing to make up for the oversight tomorrow, he shook off the guilt. “Sweet of you to offer.” Cupping the bigger man’s face, he blinked coyly up through his lashes.

Someone near the pool table gasped. “Ew, he’s touching him.”

After being stretched so thin for so long, Peter’s mental control slipped. Hand on the culprit’s jaw, he shoved his target against the wall and held him pinned like a fly in an entomologist’s shadow box. “Wanna say that to my face?”

Behind him a shotgun racked. “Gonna need ya to put Hersh down, photography boy. He still owes me a hundred large, and if you splatter his guts over the floor, I ain’t gettin’ paid.”

“Weas, you sly dog, how’d ya know?” Wade asked in a gush.

“Noboby, and I mean not even ya momma, loves you at first sight.”

Bristling again, Peter still managed to drop the man in his grip. He turned to glare at the bartender. “You neither, I’m willing to bet.”

“Damned straight, Parker. No one’s gonna take you up on that wager.” Weasel pulled out his wallet and counted out crumpled bills. “Shared crippling self-hate makes a fine foundation for a friendship.” He shoved the stack at Wade. “Stronger than he looks. Faster too. Now I can see how he gets all those crazy pics. Mutant?”

“No more than I am,” Wade replied with a shrug.

“So mutate.” That calculating gaze again sized up Peter, as if the new information altered his assessment of his friend’s boyfriend.

“You know, ’m right here. You could ask me.”

The bartender’s sharp appraisal and bladed smirk set Peter’s skin to crawling. “Don’t look like the forthcoming type. Seems you prefer to keep the focus on the _he-ro_ instead of the man behind the lens.”

_He knows!_ The thought echoed through Peter’s mind, his scowl frozen in place. As his panic dulled, he remembered his decision from earlier in the month. _Aunt May is safe, so who cares if he guesses that I’m Spider-man?_ Oh, that was why Wade suddenly wanted Peter meet this guy. As he stuck out his hand, he flashed a vicious grin that promised a world of hurt should this guy betray him. “Peter Parker. Photographer. Not particularly a pleasure to meet you.”

“Jack Hammer. Bartender. Feeling’s mutual.” Still he shook Peter’s hand.

Wade’s sharp clap forced their attention to him. “Off to a good start. So what say we continue this at the bar?”

Without a reply, Weasel slung the shotgun over his shoulder and walked to the swinging section of the bar top. He lifted it and stepped through. “Lemme put Shorty away.” Head under the counter, only Peter’s enhanced hearing allowed him to catch the man’s fondly muttered words. “Glad Wade met ya. He’s happier than he’s ever been.” When the man stood straight, Peter found no hint of that warmth in his expression. “Okay, so he’s real. Big whoopty shit.”

“I know, right?” Wade sighed as he sidled up to a barstool. When he settled with his head propped in his cupped palms, he wore the glazed expression of a lovesick teen. “Biggest of all the whoopty shits.”

Weasel ignored his supposed friend entirely as he asked, “So, pretty face, prove you’re more. If you could know the absolute and complete truth about one question, which one would you ask?”

“Oh, wow, that’s…” Suspicious Peter withdrew a few inches to have a better field of vision on the man. “That’s pretty deep for getting to know each other.”

“So not as quick thinking as Wade’d have me believe?”

“Just an extremely nuanced question that I’ve never considered before.” Nostril’s flaring, Peter decided to press forward. “I’d have to generate about fifteen options, weigh each by their pros and cons, and decide by process of elimination to arrive at a real answer, but off the top of my head: What is the unified theory of everything?”

“Ah, not willing to narrow your scope.”

“I want it all and I want it now,” Peter replied without a hint of conscience for chasing the wildly impossible nuances of physics beyond the scope of the visible world.

“Not a man of compromise. I like that.” Weasel gave him a curt nod before wandering off to serve another patron.

“Gotta admit,” Peter mumbled, “he’s got some truth in advertising going on. That’s the weaseliest weasel that ever weaseled.”

“Yeah, but other than that he’s honest and trustworthy.” Wade snorted. “Really, my ever-springing font of carnal inspiration, he’s only being protective. He didn’t like my refusal to introduce my new boyfriend to my bestiest of besties. Outside Spidey of course.”

“Would you really have paid him that much just so he couldn’t guess the secret he obviously guessed the instant he saw us together?”

“Well of course. He paid me that much for the privilege of meeting you, didn’t he?” Wade turned up his nose, adding, “Weas ain’t the only protective one around here.” He pulled Peter off the barstool to settle in his lap. With both arms wrapped around the smaller man, he hooked his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder. “He likes you, baby boy. Stop worrying.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Peter didn’t think he’d been particularly worried, but he did relax into his lover’s arms.

“He’ll calm down quick, now that he knows why I wouldn’t let him meet you.”

Peter nodded.

Before he could reply, Weasel returned. “What’s the longest you’ve gone without sleep, and at what point did you start losing your mind?”

As Peter replied, “No, my turn,” Wade giggled, saying, “Where’re ya gettin’ this shit, Cosmo?”

“Mantelligence. If you hafta know.” With a grunt he faced Peter head on. “So what ya got?”

“What do you think everyone should do at least once in their lives?”

“Die,” the man replied with no hint of hesitation. “It tells you who you are better than anything else. Once you return you know what makes you a special snowflake and what makes you a piece of shit.” He glared at Wade. “Though staring into that mirror too much leaves you pretty fucked up.”

“Not like I did it on purpose,” the big man whined.

The bartender quirked one entire side of his face with harsh doubt.

“Not every time anyway.”

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated enough to match Stark’s.

Wade huffed. “Screw you.”

“Thought your boy here was takin’ care of that.”

“And so much more, Weas, you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I got a pretty good idea, which I don’t wanna think about, so why don’t you two fuck off? At least go hide in the jackoff booth.”

Disgusted Peter scrunched his nose. “Think I’ll pass.”

“Fine, just sit there and continue the PDA. But keep it PG-13. I don’t need nightmares of that dick’s nightmare dick.” Without turning toward them Weasel tossed a filthy bar rag over his shoulder while mixing a Bloody Mary. “Otherwise you’re both banned for six months.”

While he delivered the drink, Peter shot his boyfriend a questioning frown.

“Okay, lemme explain, baby boy.” Wade wedged a hand down the back of Peter’s jeans and squeezed his ass over his underpants. “See this is PG-13, but if I…”

As his boyfriend wriggled his fingers around the cloth and into the cleft of his ass, Peter wondered if he shouldn’t end the flagrant exhibitionism. Then his beloved swirled a finger around his plug. Swept up in the sensation, the moment where he could stop the ex-merc passed with a greedy rock of his hips.

“See, now, that’s R rated.” Wade explained before tapping his boyfriend’s plug. “And that’s NC-17.”

Writhing in the bigger man’s lap, Peter tossed his head and bit his tongue. When the vibrations started, he failed to suppress a lewd moan.

“Now we’re getting into X territory.”

Weasel slapped the bar, the crack loud enough that Peter jerked and prepared to jump to the ceiling. “Not kidding, Wade. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

Wade cocked his head to one side. “Whassa matter? Jelly ’cause ain’t nobody wettin’ your wick?”

“Yes, in fact, I am. It’s been Rosy palm and her five daughters for eight months and seventeen days.” The bartender didn’t shy from the admission, entirely truthful as far as Peter could tell. “Now get the hell outta here before I turn the fire hose on you.”

In one quick, smooth motion Deadpool leveled a heavy pistol between his supposed friend’s eyes.

The scent of fresh urine mingled with the old. “Great. I’ve pissed myself. Are you happy now?”

“As an oyster at a clambake.” At least Wade holstered his weapon.

“And you’re okay with this?” Weasel demanded of Peter.

With his Spidey sense silent, he floundered for a reaction. “Um…” No one really controlled Wade, not even the man himself. Sure, Peter didn’t like everything his boyfriend did, but for now he restrained his urge to protect the regular people. Which somehow Weasel made easier than usual. “Not really?”

“Aha, so as hypocritical as the rest? Gonna let the presumed bad guy get blown away?”

“Just being realistic. I know how much control I have over tall, dark, and deadly, but I also know better than to use it.”

Weasel finally cracked a real smile at Wade. “Ya did good—gotta admit I had my doubts—but I’m proud of ya, buddy.”

“Thanks, Weas.” The ex-merc chucked his friend’s shoulder before easing Peter to his feet. “I’ll be available for work come the middle of next week.”

“Still only no-kills?” Weasel asked, facing Peter.

The bigger man shrugged off the disapproval. “Still not gonna change my mind just so your greedy ass makes more money.”

“Fine, then you’d best settle your tab.” He tapped a sticky note taped to the side of his register. “Those Shirley Temples broke the $500 mark. And I know you’ve got the money.”

With a huff, Wade counted half the cash back to him. “There. We’re even now.”

“Not hardly. Now go have fun at someone else’s expense.” With that Weasel dismissed them, turning back to his patrons.

At the saloon doors, which hung inside the heavy wooden doors that led to the street, Peter glanced back. Head down, fully engrossed in whatever he was writing, Weasel raised a hand to wave goodbye, so Peter returned the gesture. Glad to be outside the realm of the terrifyingly observant man, he bumped Wade’s shoulder. “That was… Interesting? You two aren’t exactly nice to each other.”

Despite an amused snort Wade made no reply as he donned his mask. A minute later he leaned against his boyfriend, a light shoulder bump instead of sprawling his entire mass over the smaller man.

Peter glanced up. “Oh, hey, White.”

They didn’t talk as they walked shoulder to shoulder, but they didn’t head straight home either. Early on a Friday night, the city streets bustled with life like a disturbed ant hill: workers hustling to and fro, drones looking pretty as they yammered on their phones, parents dragging their larvae from one place to the next. He wondered who constituted royalty in the human hive. Never mind that ants only had queens, he decided Stark had to be the closest he knew.

“What did the leper say to the prostitootie?”

Startled from his musings, Peter glanced up.

“Keep the tip.”

He groaned and bumped his shoulder into White’s. “That was terrible.”

The box brushed a kiss at his temple. “Yeah.”

After another moment of silence between them, Peter asked, “How’s Yellow holding up? I kinda left him hanging earlier.”

White winced. “He’s trying to convince Wade…” With a small, strangled sound the words cut off.

Though Peter wanted to say more, he knew he’d wind up punishing the box for encouraging Wade’s paranoid self-consciousness in the first place. Instead he squeezed White’s hand and kept walking.

When their meandering path brought them to the steps outside their apartment building, White asked, “So would you… care to… um…?”

Peter waited for him to finish, but when no words filled the void, he ran a thumb across the apple of the big man’s cheek. “Ask and it’s yours. I’d do it anyway, if I could figure out what it is.”

White’s sad smile radiated an old and mellowed hurt. “Will it be okay if I spend some time with you? Um, _physical_ time?”

“Physical time, huh? Can my cock wait until after patrol?”

With a subdued laugh, White led the way to the door. “Sure. Not like I’m going anywhere any time soon.”


	28. Morning of Day 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to get one over on Daddy. His effort far more successful than he ever considered.
> 
> (The rest of the day will hafta be another chapter. I gotta get this off my Word cue so I can finish this month's edit.)

CW: The f-word. Yeah, no, the OTHER f-word. No, the long version. Yeah, that’s the one. White says it twice about himself. So if that’s something that’s gonna bother you … Well, crap, I’m sorry? I marked the spot with three asterisks so you can skip it.

White flopped through the window ahead of Peter, his arm still healing from being caught in an industrial press. “I know Wade does it to impress you—okay, yes, to enjoy your company—but I can’t imagine what keeps you going out night after night. And don’t give me that responsibility line; I don’t buy it.”

“Just because I can.” Peter sighed as he dropped heavily onto the bed. “I can go out there, protect people, and make it home to heal up so I can do it all over again. Do I need more justification?”

“That’s literally the same answer with shittier wording.” White shrugged, then winced from the effort. “No, guess _you_ don’t a better reason, but I sure as hell would need more motivation.”

“Like cold hard cash?”

“Never mistake me for Wade. Please.” White rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Even some damned gratitude would go a long way. That punk on Third—”

“Is home safe, and that’s all that matters.” Peter peeled off his mask, glad to be home himself. That kid had been a little asshole, but she didn’t need her head caved in by some crime boss’s enforcer for nothing more than her craptastic attitude.

The irritation drained from White’s expression as he blinked down at the younger man. “It’s not like you’re handsome—”

“Thanks,” Peter bit out.

“—more like who you are makes you irresistible.”

He flushed at both the compliment and his snark. “Thank you.”

White tugged his lover’s shirt over his head. “You should wear the Iron Spider suit more often, not just when the Avengers call an all hands on deck.”

The thought made Peter’s nose scrunch. “Nah. It doesn’t feel right; it’s not mine.” He returned the favor, unzipping the wide leather panel at the back of the bigger man’s suit.

The box shrugged off his shirt, weapons and all, revealing that broad, muscular chest and all the shifting, raised scars that graced the expanse. “You get used to driving a tank even if all you knew was a miniCoop.”

“I don’t want to come to rely on something that someone else can just take away. Hey! You said you were my size!” Arms crossed, Peter harrumphed.

“So, what, a Toyota Yaris?”

He puffed his chest. “More like a Beemer subcompact.”

With an amused snort, White tugged Peter’s pants down his legs. “That’s a dad car. What is it with you and Beemers?”

“I’m dad age. Besides, maybe I just like them. Maybe Happy drove me home, and Stark’s smelled like axle grease and heaven.”

Without preamble White yelped, “I will not!”

“So how’s Yellow planning to paralyze me now?” Peter asked, still kicking his feet free as he reached for his boyfriend’s fly.

“He’s adamant I open a few veins, slather you down in bacon grease for good measure, and fuck you til—”

“I never walk again.” Peter chuckled at Yellow’s singlemindedness. Spandex still clinging to one foot, he slid off the edge of the bed and knelt before his lover. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

The leather pants clung and fought, but finally-finally his lover’s cock sprang free. He met White’s gaze, prepared for the way his stomach lurched. However the mounting urge to punish, humiliate, hurt, _mangle_, that caught him by surprise.

“Peter?” White closed both eyes, stepped back, even tucked his face into his elbow.

With a shake, the younger man pulled his reeling mind back from that violent fantasy. He sat back on his feet, still dazed.

“You okay?” The poor box wheezed on the edge of panic.

Peter leaned forward and pressed his cheek to the bigger man’s thigh. “Probabably…” With a few rapid blinks, his distance and peripheral vision returned. “Just, uh, doing a bit of a Yellow impersonation for a second.” The buzz in his ears died to a low hum. “Wow, that was intense.”

“You know better.” The cutting words had a patronizing tone Peter flat out resented.

Brow knotted in annoyance he fought down the reflex to retaliate and escalate. “Er, no, I really didn’t expect an urge to dismember you at every major joint and watch all the bits grow back together, complete with that wet squelch.” He warbled his way to his feet, to add angrily, “I thought you had that part under control.”

With a grimace and a sheepish hand at the back of his neck, White shrugged as if the weight of the world rested on those massive shoulders. “I did. I do, well, I mean, not perfect. Slipped a little when I started thinking about how good you look…”

“With my lips wrapped around your cock?” Peter smirked up, careful not to hold the box’s gaze.

“Yes, that.” Surly panic drained from his lover’s features. “And sorry for snapping at you. I always hated when Mother did that. If I’d known better, I damned well wouldn’t’ve done it.” A defeated sigh wheezed from his lips. “I’d thought never having children, being… the way I am, I’d never do that nasty shit to anyone, but here we are.”

“So just the chaos and murder then?” To ensure the man knew he was teasing to lighten the mood, Peter wrapped the bigger man in a tight embrace.

“Ha, blame Wade for the murder—vile, er, not going there—but the chaos is my own.” He leaned down to return the hug. “Sorry. You really are too good for us.”

When the lunk tried to pull back, Peter’d had enough. “Mine.” He raised the burrs on his hands, allowing them to cling to the bare skin of White’s back as a reminder.

“Okay, okay, easy there, velcro boy. Not running. Not going anywhere, promise.”

“Velcro boy?” He snorted in amusement. “I’ll show you velcro boy.” Clinging everywhere they touched, he toppled them onto the bed, ensuring his body took the brunt to avoid reinjuring the man’s healing arm. Releasing his grip he whispered a gentle demand, “Tell me what you want.”

Out of nowhere, unexpected tears welled as White’s chest heaved and bucked. “The only thing I ever wanted was for that damned woman to quit hitting me, but when I was finally free… Lost my mind, lost my way, lost my hope. Destroyed everything in my path.”

Though the words stopped, Peter watched the thoughts continue to flicker through his monster’s tortured mind. He longed to comfort the man, but all those clichéd sorrys rang hollow. Another offer to get White an appointment with the Avenger’s psychologists wouldn’t be welcome either. Cooing soft nothings, he petted over the big man’s bald head. He had no solace to offer beyond the gentle touch.

After a few minutes of soothing, White settled into his embrace. “You smell good. All warm and alive.”

“Yeah?” The word came out a faint sigh.

The box turned into the smaller man’s chest and inhaled deeply. “Yeah. Like sunlight on wildflowers. Like home and love, peace and safety.” He slumped bonelessly. “I think I’m finally mourning. Took way longer than it should have.”

“Maybe we should celebrate; I’m not shouldering responsibility for every woe in the world today.” Peter nudged until his boyfriend leaned back against his chest, his groin tight to the box’s rather trim ass.

As if the last five minutes hadn’t happened, White groused, “I want to feel you, not that stupid cage Wade put on you.” He wrestled the key from around his neck and handed it over his shoulder.

“It’s all fun and games until someone gets a ball turned blue.”

“A reader noticed that the author forgot to milk your swollen balls after the ruined orgasms. It can do some nasty things.”

Peter shrugged off the statement as he tossed the cage and its key on the nightstand. “So long as you three don’t forget, we’ll be fine.” He rolled their bodies to one side, curling protectively around his oversized little spoon. “I’ve sorta gotten used to having mine ruined.”

With a lighthearted tease, White replied, “Well if I had my say, I’d let you come.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” The young hero snickered.

White winced as he blanched. “You do know how ugly that could get if your Daddy found out I let you come?”

One nod provided answer enough for Peter.

Still worried the motionless box asked, “And you’re not afraid? You’re willing to suffer the consequences? Eager even, should it come to that?”

“Yes, White.” Peter sighed but humored his boyfriend. “Daddy always makes sure I love it more than I hate it.”

That earned a soft chuckle from the box. After a few deep breaths that rigid strain eased from his body. He wriggled against Peter’s hypersensitive cock. “Keeping more secrets? Mighty dangerous game.” He barked out a loud cackle. “Could come back to bite you in the ass.”

His grin fond, Peter shrugged. “Eh, I’m ready to mix it up a little.”

“If that’s your wish.” The box chuffed. “Variety _is_ the spice of life.” He pressed more solidly against Peter’s rapidly filling erection. “Too damned much drama for porn without plot.”

Peter snickered against his lover’s neck. “To be fair, that was mostly you.”

“Hmph, I’ll have you know that, of the four of us, I’m lowest maintenance.”

“Sure.” Grinding against the bigger man, he teased out a whimper of desperation before continuing, “You’re the stable one. Even if you can’t actually admit you like taking it up the ass.”

***“Fine, yes, I’m a faggot. Moreover I’m your faggot.” White growled, arms crossed and scowl etched deep. “Happy now?”

Peter didn’t care much for the term, particularly when bit out like an exceptionally vulgar curse, but at least the other admitted his homosexuality in plain language, likely for the first time in his life. “Mmm, happy enough, my monster.” He smoothed the groove between White’s nonexistent brows. Determined to dismantle the box to only his basest urges, Peter rocked in a rhythmic dry hump. “Do you feel me?”

“Yes.” His boyfriend’s delicate whisper ended in a breathy gasp. “Please, more.”

“We’ll get there.” He hooked a leg around the bigger man’s hip without breaking the slow, rolling undulation. “Wanna take my time destroying you.” Delighted by the power he held over his much larger lover, he clutched both the man’s wrists in a hand nowhere near large enough to gain a firm hold.

While White hitched and moaned, Peter lubed them up. Once those moans turned ragged, he aligned their bodies. The box needed no encouragement to press back and take what he desired so madly.

To gentle his urgent writhing, the smaller man slowed their pace by curling his free hand over a collar bone, drawing the scarred man’s back snuggly to his chest. “Easy, we’re in no hurry.” The tense muscles strained under his touch while White whimpered. “I got you, my sweet monster. Let yourself enjoy the ride.”

When the box failed to respond, Peter pulled out to roll them face to face. He pinned the thirsty, peevish man to the mattress, legs draped over his arms, knees forced up and open. He peppered kisses along his beloved’s jaw and throat as one rut of his hips returned his throbbing cock to that enticing, wet heat. Eyes closed, he basked in the tight slide that squeezed up his length. Murmuring praise and nonsense, he cupped one hand under the other man’s neck, tilting his head for a chaste peck against lips parted in a pant.

With the fervor of tremendous desire White stole a quivering kiss before he caught the younger man’s lower lip with his teeth and pulled back.

Such a needy monster.

Peter smirked, lips swollen and sensitive. Arms straightening, he pushed upright, rhythm steady. As each thrust punched out a pleading gasp from his lover, he took his sweet time. Enjoying every pained contortion of the man’s face, he forced himself to draw out the intense lay as long as he could.

He lightly tugged the cock between them, its weight more familiar than his own’s. The box keened a desperate and wordless plea for release that shot straight to his dick, making it twitch and drawing a gasp from him.

_So close._ He fought down his own relief, letting his desire gnaw at his self-control.

After a tortured whinge, White’s breath hissed out through a pained grimace. He hitched once, twice, then jizz splattered down his lover’s abdomen, walls spasming along the smaller man’s cock. After a moment to catch his breath, the box grunted. “Your love is a scalpel, flaying me open, leaving me raw and vulnerable.”

“On your knees and I’ll show you open and raw.” Despite Peter’s demand, he mourned the loss of that delicious squeeze. He’d been so close, but this gave him a moment to back down the inevitable.

“Yes. Yes, please.” Head down, ass up, White offered his body with eager delight. “Yes, take me.”

Peter grabbed him, forced him open. One hand at his lover’s hip, steadying their pace, the grinded at the end of each stroke. His groans turned animalistic and urgent. Heat gathered in his skin. Balls drawing tight, he chased his first real nut in so long he couldn’t remember.

“Oh, ba-a-abeey bo-o-o-eey.”

The sing-songed nickname turned Peter’s veins to ice. His body froze in mid-thrust, and a frustrated tear toppled down his cheek.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

Peter trembled.

Wade’s back twisted and stretched. His hand pulled the smaller man back into motion. “That’s right, baby boy; come for Daddy. You know I could never deny you anything for long.”

Still shaking but so close he could taste his release, Peter obeyed. Body sparking and mind numb he fought down his panic enough to maintain the mechanical motion of his hips without the older man’s help.

A new universe burst to life with roaring stars and a grating squeal that could only be his own full-lung scream. Hot and weak, muscles trembling, he slumped against his lover. Sniffling, he mumbled, “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Go wash up, then corner time.” Wade pulled away and rolled to his back to watch as shame and fear lit his boy ablaze. “And you’d been such a good boy, so close to the finish line.” He tsked as he tucked his hands behind his head, exuding pure satisfaction. “This punishment will be exquisite.”

Peter did as his owner bid. After one last doe-eyed plea for mercy, he assumed the familiar stance. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to be a bad boy.”

“Liar.” The ex-merc snickered as he shifted around the room. “You planned to nut before you ever shoved your dick in.” That shuffling moved up, toward the ceiling. “Wanted to mix it up.”

Hot from being called out on his mischief, Peter pressed his forehead into the corner. “Yes, Daddy.”

“My naughty boy really shouldn’t give White heart attacks like that ya know. He still expects my punishments to leave you physically and mentally fucked.” Wade grunted and a chain clinked, both sounds well off the ground.

_Bad boy. _Oh, Wade hadn’t said it, but he heard it loud and clear: _bad boy, bad boy, bad boy…_

“What the hell do you think I do when a box is driving the bus, anyway?”

Peter’s nostrils flared and lip quivered. His chest heaved as he fought the first sob, but what did it matter? That wouldn’t be the last.

Wade tapped a foot in expectation.

Oh, right, Daddy asked a question. Thin snot burned under his nose, and he longed to wipe it away but didn’t dare move from holding his elbows. Oh, right, Daddy’s question. Once he cleared his mind enough to reply, he stuttered, “N-n-nap.” The nasal vibration echoed against the wall, setting up a moment of harmonic resonance in his facial bones that made his eyes buzz and his vision fuzz.

“Yeah, okay, fair enough. I do usually doze. A growing ex-mur-diddly-urderer needs his rest.”

Needing to shake off the sheer intensity of his emotions, Peter drew on the deep reserve of trust that they’d so carefully built over the month. Wade would hurt him but he would like it.

Eventually.

Unsure if he hoped to distract Wade or himself from the punishment coming down the pike, he asked in a watery voice, “Do you have like a mind palace or something?”

“Lucid dreams, more like. Not entirely nightmare free but controlled enough that I can let go completely.” Wade turned up his nose and sniffed in mock pique. “Unless I hear my boy plan to be naughty.” He damned near purred in satisfaction as he continued his ramble. “It’s a very creative space, Petey-pie. I’m so glad you decided to be willful when I had time to really plan your regret. You’re gonna love how much you hate it.” With a clink of metal on metal, his boy’s fine body hair said he landed on the floor. “Stay right there. Daddy’ll be right back with Helen. She’s oh so very eager to see you.” His laughter followed him as he skipped joyfully out the door.

Chest tight, Peter forced the air from his lungs. Now if he could just pull some fresh in. With a burst of salt and copper, he realized he’d been chewing on his bottom lip this entire time. The dreadful anxiety left his muscles twitchy. With a jolt, his plug roared to life, and he squealed before choking off the high, feminine wail.

“Don’t be like that, my scrumptious little strawberry cream.” A powerful hand settled at the nape of his neck, tangled in his hair. “Embrace your inner fangirl and squee for Daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” His head jerked back, his scalp tingling. “Please, Daddy, I’ve been a bad boy, and I need to be punished.” His neck craned further.

“You have. You do.” His world trembled as his lover shook his fist. “And, oh, baby boy, you will be. C’mon; Helen has a lot of kisses for you. Oh, but first… Let’s get you dressed for the occasion.”

Clutching his arm, Wade led him from the corner. A stripper pole stood between them and the bed, where his boy’s bondage gear and all those bells lay neatly arranged. Both ends of a chain dangled from a pulley overhead. While his Daddy steered his body, Peter studied the pole and chain like an art installation, anxious to decipher its meaning, but his mind came up blank.

With a chipper hum, his lover painstakingly locked him into the restraints, hanging the bells randomly like a kid on a sugar high. He placed the last and biggest bell on Peter’s everyday collar rather than the snug leather one that enforced his rigid posture.

With a curt nod, the bigger man’s pleased grin grew wicked. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter mumbled while those stupid butterflies fluttered madly in his stomach. “Thank you for caring enough to correct your boy.”

“Wise choice, Sweety Petey, since you won’t be able to show your gratitude after.” Wade pulled him across Daddy’s lap, ignoring the bells that bit into their flesh. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be doing much at all.”

Helen. There she was in Daddy’s hand.

Peter trembled as he asked, “Miss Helen, will you kiss Daddy’s boy for trying to come without permission?” Blood whooshed in his burning ears. “Please, ma’am?”

“Oh, such proper little fuck toy.”

Something spritzed.

A chill of damp settled on Peter’s exposed globes with a burst of light floral notes. That first strike landed hard, a sting that made Peter shriek in surprise, drowning out the cheerful jingle of the bells. “One. Thank you, Miss Helen.” He fought down his panic, waited for his breathing to calm before asking, “May Daddy’s boy have another kiss, Miss Helen?”

In a blur of unadulterated agony, Peter requested, received, and showed his appreciation for those breath-stealing blows on his dampened skin, reminiscent of his first bootcamp punishment.

Then he faced a conundrum: Daddy had left the number open. Peter’s tolerance had grown over the month. His Daddy expected him to request a proper number of strikes without going over. Except he was in too much pain to feel his body’s limits. At two dozen he paused, hoping the hellish sting would die down enough to assess his condition.

Mathematically he knew it wasn’t enough. Physically it felt like too much already. He guessed his tolerance had doubled, so he had no choice: forty.

Despite his tears and screams, his kicking legs and flailing arms, Peter managed to properly request another dozen strokes. _Just four more. I’ll survive another four._ He panted out, “Will you kiss Daddy’s boy again, Miss Helen, so he remembers to be good.” Despite the anticipation after literally asking for it, each strike came as a surprise that drove a pained howl from his lips.

“That’s right, baby boy. Sing loud for Daddy.”

“Thirty-seven, Miss Hel-l-len.” The word broke and he gasped for air. “Thank you for correcting this bad b-b—” Peter swallowed to force down his misery and panic. “Thank you.” He let himself bawl.

_Three more._ The thought filled his oxygen-starved mind with dread, but he asked for another. _Two more… Last one._ Bells announcing his trembles, throat so sore from his screams, he did the exact last thing he wanted in that moment and croaked out his request for that final blow. The hard impact forced him to jerk, his whole body spasming.

“Thank you, Miss Helen.” His final expression of gratitude barely carried any sound. “Pleas… Daddy’s boy… learned ’is lesson.”

Clucking, Wade lay back, pulling Peter to his chest. “Such a good boy. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He kept babbling in a soothing rumble.

The miserable hellfire in Peter’s backside distracted him from his relief that his punishment had ended.

“The warmup’s over.”

_Warm—? More? No, there can’t be more._ Peter couldn’t imagine more. He couldn’t face more. He couldn’t survive more. He sobbed harder. Desolate and panicked, he groped through his memories for his safeword and came up blank. Which only terrified him more.

“That’s right, baby boy; cry it out.” Wade petted him gently. Once the jerking hiccups died down, he asked, “Was my boy allowed another big fat orgasm during bootcamp?”

“N-n-no, sir. Daddy. Sir.” Peter had never felt so contrite and chastised in his life. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s okay, baby boy; I understand. You’re not a bad, greedy little slut who never thinks of anything but his own pleasure; I know that.” He massaged the smaller man’s balls gently, a threat nonetheless. “Just you’ve been on tease and denial so long you’re forgetting what a full, luxurious fucknut feels like.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Tears of fear gave way to tears of shame. “Your boy hates being bad.”

“’S okay, sweet boy. Despite your reminder to obey, three times a day for a month, you thought you could sneak one past Daddy and come until you’re spent.” Some dark promise lurked in Wade’s laugh. “But that’s okay. Daddy’s gonna help you.”

“Daddy?” The vibration in his ass stopped dead, drawing his attention to the loss.

The bigger man tugged the plug from his body, wrapped it, and placed it beside his cage. “There, no need for those.”

Peter clutched his collar, aware his Daddy could take it away just as easily. “But, Daddy, I need them.”

“You precious little denied bunny, Daddy will give them back before he tucks you into bad.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mind numb, body screaming, Peter slumped, his tension fractionally eased.

Wade took his time fastening his boy’s limbs around the pole with locks and latches. After wrapping a ring around the pole, his Daddy clicked his collar to it.

“Nice and safe.” Wade slipped his fist between his boy’s chest and the pole. After sparing a moment to flick both nipples to hard pebbles, he crushed them into clover clamps, then tugged the chain to ensure the heavy weights would stay. He checked blood flow in both hands and both feet. “Not too tight, so ready or not…”

The sudden intrusion of two thick fingers shocked Peter from his stupor. It burned but then Daddy wriggled them, pumped them. Mentally wilted and emotionally shattered, he saw no choice but to take the manhandling, entirely forgetting that he could break free. A sharp pleasure coiled inside him. His hips jutted to meet each harsh stroke.

Kneeling, Wade took his boy’s cock into his mouth.

Peter had barely recovered, but his body reacted with enthusiasm. Thrusting into that eager, wet heat, shoving back to chase away the emptiness, stroking his prostate in the process, the pleasure knotted his muscles until he could barely twitch.

“_Daddy…_” The word came out in a husky breathless rasp.

“You wanted to come, baby boy, so come for Daddy. Won’t even ruin it, promise.”

Motions small and so very tight, he managed to vibrate between the two intense sensations. Seconds later he jizzed down his Daddy’s throat.

True to his word, he milked his boy through the spasms until Peter whimpered at the overstimulation. “There. Better?”

Unable to work his voice, he nodded against the collar at his throat.

“Good.” Wade patted his boy on the head. “Daddy’ll take care of your fap roulette and your beddy-bye correction when he’s ready.” With that he left Peter sagging against the pole.

Hearing, “Thank you for being a friend,” blast from the television, Peter groaned. He might be stuck here a while.

Every few minutes Wade came in to jack his boy back to diamond hard, then left him wanting. At first Peter merely shuddered at the stimulation, but each time his owner came back to arouse him, his stupid, hopeful body responded more eagerly. That last time his neck muscles stood out in corded bands even as Wade snickered in some secret amusement.

Before his boy’s cock could soften, he came to edge his boy again.

Until he didn’t.

After a while Peter strained his senses in hopes of gaining a clue to his fate. A single scuff and he located his lover in the kitchen. With a scree from the warped and rusted old latch to the storage pantry, Peter’s heart sank.

_“A toy not a weapon”? There’s nothing but Deadpool’s weapons in there. This is about to suck._

Just the sound of his owner’s approach made him quake from head to toe. His feet tried to curl in on themselves even as he stood on them. Fuck, his teeth chattered from how violently he shook. “Please lemme go, Daddy, please! I’ll be good!” Your best boy, your best toy, your dreams, your nightmares, your every fucking desire, just please lemme go.”

“Mmm, yeah, your Daddy thought you might be softened up.”

Peter’s eyes jerked to meet his boyfriend’s, his rapid breaths loud in his head. “Yellow?”

“At your service, Petey.” Carriage whip folded to grasp both tail and handle, he gave a jaunty salute. “And by service I mean I’m gonna bid ya the kind of g’night whippin’ a bad slave won’t soon forget.”

Nodding, he swallowed the pool of spit collecting in his mouth. “Yes, Yellow.”

In a burst of warmth against his ear, the box asked. “Just a little blood?” He shirked back, wincing. “Fine. Assholes.”

When the cracker tickled down Peter’s back, he shivered. He fought to stay still while his body insisted he retreat. The first strike was a caress, a sensual delight, and the second landed with barely more force. By the tenth he groaned in pure lewd pleasure as the light thump sank into his shoulder muscles. His cock pulsed with his heartbeat.

As the intensity built, Peter leaned into the strikes like a sensual massage. Mind foggy, thoughts still, nothing existed but the feel of Yellow’s whip. The sting crested, overtaking his delight with a small flinch that only grew with each hit, robbing the smaller man of thought and breath alike.

When a graceless, frantic jolt, complete with a chorus of bells, earned a mad cackle from Yellow, his rhythm faltered. “But what if I wanna wear him down to the bone?” After a few seconds of silence, a glimpse revealed the box’s mouth hung open as he leered at his boyfriend, a starving beast sizing up his next meal. “That’s tonight?” The box whimpered at the reply. “Can I have a little longer…? Yeah, he’ll be a lazy puddle of mush when I’m done.”

Peter watched the scene from overhead. His lover was beautiful like this. Stunning. Bands of welted scars gathered and bunched as muscles contracted, then pulled until they strained as the muscles extended. With precision and grace, Yellow flicked another pale patch of skin to a vibrant pink, while Peter’s body jerked, then stilled. The fluid motion continued, slow and steady, allowing him to stay outside and observe with starry-eyed wonder at how very perfect they were together, their hearts and lungs synchronized to the sizzle of leather across flesh.

Intellectually he knew he was high enough to hallucinate, knew the hormones flooding his body had altered his perception as much as senses. Yet even as his flinches grew into jerks, he couldn’t identify this as pain. He recognized the damage as Yellow let the cracker curl around his ribs, his thighs, his calves even. His body tried to dance away from the sting, but the cuffs caught his ankles, denied his legs the capacity to pull him to safety.

Head lolling, Peter only realized the box had stopped when a hand nudged him back from the pole. That damp heat enveloped his cock again. Two fingers deftly worked into his body and sought that tiny nub of pleasure.

Yellow always sucked cock so well it hurt, but this was agony. Peter’s wanton moans sounded completely gone in his ears until the box stole his breath in a kiss that left him seeing stars. “Beg me, boy. Beg me to let you come.”

“Plea—”

The impulsive box didn’t hold out for more than that hint of obedience. Shivering, wrecked by stimulation at the near edge of too much, Peter resisted the urge to fight off his lover’s insistent attention.

Once he’d again come, Yellow pulled back. “That’s a good boy, Petey. You just say right there.”

Lost in the haze of his mind, Peter floated, willing to wait as long as his lover wanted. When his face bonked into the pole, he realized he’d relaxed enough to lose his balance. Behind him chain ratcheted through the pully.

“Jeez, we can just turn him around.”

“Daddy?”

Wade hummed noncommittally.

“’M sleepy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby boy. Twenty minutes tops, and you’ll be flat on your back, too soul-deep exhausted to even dream.” He grumbled, “Gah, fine, you turn him, but I don’t wanna miss a single expression.”

A gentle hand trailed down Peter’s cheek before stroking his eyelids closed. “Are you enjoying your punishment?”

“Yes, White.” Peter’s small grin felt shy on his face.

“Did you know a genuine smile makes your ears twitch?”

He laughed. “I do now.”

“It’s cute.”

“’M not cute,” he protested. “You’re cute.”

“So you say.” White kissed the hinge of his jaw. “Yet here you are.” The next kiss graced the tip of his nose. “A cute little spider caught in your own web.” Though fond, his sigh also carried a wistful note. “They say you’ll like this, say you’ll like it even better as a surprise, so will you close your eyes while I turn you around?”

“Yes, White.” Eyelids smushed tightly together, Peter surrendered control.

Each connector was released. Hands turned his body to face out from the pole. Each connector snapped again, signaling his cuffs again held him snugly in place. Rope secured his wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles; a belt snugged at his waist.

White removed the nipple clamps, massaging the agonized nubs. “Just some clips. Nothing to worry about.” Starting well below the belt line he pinched up the skin and added a coarse clamp, forming two columns that lead up Peter’s abdomen. “Last ones.” The renewed pressure on his sore nipples stung, drawing a mated pair of gasps from him.

The chain ratcheted again. After a moment, White coaxed, “Open your mouth and close your eyes, and I’m gonna give you a big surprise.”

When Peter obeyed, a firm plastic rod settled over his tongue.

“Close.” White kissed his temple as he followed the simple instruction. “They’re right. Such a good boy.”

A breath later, the big man said, “Don’t let go, baby boy.”

With those words, weight tugged the rod, slowly increasing until Peter could feel the slight sway of the free-swinging mass at the other end.

Inches from his face, Wade announced, “Open those gorgeous eyes.”

And there was his lover. Lovers? Did it matter? Mouth too occupied to smile, he blinked at the pleased man who owned him, his chest filled to bursting with pure adoration.

“Now for tonight’s fap roulette, the rules are a might bit different. Daddy’s gonna do the fapping. All you gotta do is hang on tight.” He studied his younger lover’s expression. “If you want Daddy to stop, paw the ground three times. Can you show me?”

Peter tried to nod as he lifted to the balls of his feet. Bells jingling he tapped the ground with his right foot as instructed, the rope barely allowing the motion.

“Good. Otherwise, all you have to do is hold onto the ball as long as you can.” Wade drew back to reveal a medicine ball at the end of the chain. He breathed into Peter’s ear, “Think you can do that for me?”

Again Peter made a futile motion that didn’t quite constitute a nod.

“That’s my good boy.”

Peter shivered at the whispered words. Lube-chilled fingers breached his body. That other talented hand stroked him back to erect. He could do nothing but let the big man’s will happen. Touch firm, nearly too much, his body quivered.

Wade started jacking him off slowly. “Don’t let go, baby boy.”

Muscles tight, Peter didn’t think he could if he wanted to. An ab spasmed, then a quad. The intense stimulation sped up, and so did his body quakes. Every inch straining he shook harder. He jerked in full body hitches.

As if he were coming.

Except nothing came out.

And Wade didn’t stop.

So the spasm didn’t stop.

And the pleasure-pain didn’t stop.

Air! He need air! No matter how fast he snorted and blew through his nose, he couldn’t get enough to feed his rippling muscles. The harder he shook the more he suffocated. He panted, open mouthed and desperate.

The medicine ball crashed to the floor, ripping small binder clips from his skin. He screamed in earnest, his legs warbling before they gave out entirely.

But Wade didn’t stop.

So the spasm didn’t stop.

And the pleasure-pain didn’t stop.

“No more. Don’t … Don’t wanna come no more.

“Pl-l-lease, Da-a-addy, I’ll be good.

“I’m coming, Daddy; make it stop.” Sobbing hard, Peter could barely choke out the words, but they didn’t bring him relief. “Daddy, please, I need it to stop.”

Still jacking him Wade asked, “Enjoying your punishment, baby boy?”

“I want Helen.” He hitched and sobbed. “I want my cage. Give me my cage, Daddy, please. Please , Daddy, please…

“Anythin’s better than this.

“I don’t wanna feel anymore. Please, Daddy, I’m begging: make it stop!

Peter couldn’t take another second, he lifted his foot.

Before he made the first paw, Wade was cutting him down, rope and leather alike. “No more coming, baby boy.”

“No more coming?” his boy repeated. “Promise, Daddy?”

“I promise, sweetheart, no more coming.” He cradled the smaller man in those powerful arms. “Can you stand while I get your cage back on you?”

“No, Daddy,” Peter didn’t hesitate to reply; weak as a kitten, he’d fall on his face if he tried.

“’S alright. Daddy’s got you.” Wade wiped away the stinging tears, even most of the snot. “Everything’s fine. Just trust in Daddy and he’ll get you tucked into bed, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Peter’s voice sounded small, even childish, but at the moment he didn’t hate being coddled. Powerless he trusted Wade to take care of him while his mind and body recovered.

In a sea of black without time or form, a warm cloth passed over his face, then his cock, then through his crack. “All clean now. You’re a little raw, Daddy doesn’t think the cage—”

“Nooo, need my cage,” Peter wailed faintly, inconsolably, unable to so much as raise an eyelid.

“Alright. Shh, shh, it’s alright. Daddy’s got ya. Here’s your cage. Right here. Feel it going on?”

At the familiar click, he slumped in relief. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.” Or at least he thought he said it, but he was already dreaming, his mind long gone from reality.


	29. Evening of Day 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and the boxes enjoy a calm day with Peter at the helm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry for the wait. Just had an uninspiring month. DBNS has three days left: Yellow, BookClub, and a little bonus Wade dreamed up just to amuse Peter.

Peter woke to a ray of sunlight slipping past the blinds, and he rolled to bury his eyes in his pillow. That settled, he tugged the blanket over his head and snuggled tighter to the warm body sharing his bed, utterly unwilling to face the day.

“Hey?” Wade’s voice barely penetrated his boy’s fluffy cocoon.

“Sleepin’.”

“You hungry? It’s after noon.”

Not awake enough to want food but aware of his metabolism, Peter managed a wordless grunt but allowed his boyfriend to slip from his embrace. One wistful sigh at the loss and he slipped from consciousness.

“You were so good last night.” This time the scent of roasted meat accompanied the whisper.

With a soft smile Peter rolled to his back, the bell on his collar announcing his motion. “Quite the celebration.”

Wade pressed a warm bite of greasy meat to his lips. “You’ve come a long way in a short time, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

“Mmm, yummy.” The words came out garbled, so he chewed and swallowed before trying to talk again. “I’ve come a long way? Look who’s getting along, sharing a body instead of fighting every second of the day.” He snagged his boyfriend’s wrist, holding on to lick the grease and spices from those amazing fingers.

“It’s easy when they like you.” The big man pried his hand free. “They like you. I like you. What’s not to like? You’re great.”

Peter could only scoff at that. “So no reminder spanking at the asscrack of dawn?”

“Not today.” The sheer mischief in Wade’s grin made his boy blush. “Today your punishment is having to take charge and dish it instead of lay back and take it. Can’t do that if you’re too sore to walk.”

“Domming you is never a punishment … Daddy.” His amused smirk died quick. “But I don’t have anything thought up. Ungh, I don’t want my first time back at the reins to seem lame.”

“Baby boy, even if you just web me to the wall and have your spiderlicious way with me, I could never think of your affection as anything less than a miracle.”

“You’re such a sap.” Fond, so fond his heart wept with it, Peter stroked his knuckles down the big man’s cheek. “And now I’m a sap too.”

“O-M-G, he is, isn’t he?” Wade gushed as he leaned forward. With a gentle press he kissed near the apple of his boy’s cheek. “Your eyes’re leaking.”

Now aware and embarrassed, Peter went to swipe the tear’s twin with his sleeve.

“Leave it. Please, Dom Pedro.”

“Gah, don’t call me that.” Still he left the dampness drying to salt.

“Master Parker?” Wade teased, his smirk wide and bright.

“If anything that’s worse.”

“Master Bater?”

Peter lay back in the bed. “As my first official edict as dom of the day, just call me Peter.”

“Whatever you say, bubble butt.”

Peter grumbled in mock seriousness, “This is no way to wake up your sir.”

“Yes, sir, Peter, sir.” Wade sank to his knees. “How may your humble slave be of service this morning, sir?”

“I just want a nice cuddle, maybe some pets, is that something you’re willing to provide, oh humble slave?”

That smile could have lit a city. “Yes, sir.” With feline grace he slithered down by his boy’s side and pressed their bodies close. Only a minute passed before Wade nudged him. “But your breakfast is getting cold.”

“It’s gotta be lunch by now.” Peter sat up and twisted toward the window, swinging his feet from the bed. At the sight of the destroyed stripper pole, he froze. The support in the ceiling hung lopsided, sprouting a crown of splinters. The pole lay on the floor, bent in three places. “Hope that wasn’t a rental.”

Wade shrugged. “I don’t think the International Showbar’ll want it back now.”

“You stole a stripper pole?”

He pressed his chest to Peter’s back and hung one forearm over his boy’s shoulder. “It’s not stolen if I left a stack of cash.”

Peter couldn’t argue with that logic. He probably should, but he wasn’t awake enough yet. “Not exactly how it works,” he tried.

“Worked perfectly. I got the pole; they got the money.”

He knew his cause was hopeless and let it drop for now.

***

After a wild night, a calm, easy day held a certain appeal. While Peter devoured Cantor’s _Contributions to the Theory of Founding Transfinite Numbers_, he idly stroked a hand across his lover’s scarred scalp. Chin on the smaller man’s knee, Wade blinked up in adoration.

“Wait, we use pi instead of tau because the dudes in wigs ran trigonometric intervals from negative pi to pi instead of zero to tau? That’s some next level horseshit right there.”

“You know I don’t understand a word of that. Except horseshit. I’ve done some vindictive horseshit—this one time, Petey, I swear, I didn’t expect him to drown like that when I—”

“Wade. Quiet time.” That big head settled back on his knee, and he resumed petting. “Good Daddy. Thank you for letting me read.”

His boyfriend sighed in contentment, pressing into the gentle caresses.

“It means instead of moving clockwise around a circle for one entire tau, they ran a half circle clockwise and a half-circle counterclockwise. Pi and negative pi. Which adds unnecessary complexity to the math built on their work.”

“But they couldn’t know that.” Wade’s voice stayed soft, a register Peter seldom heard from him.

Good. Peter didn’t want to have to bind and gag his boyfriend for a few minutes of peace. Not that he’d hesitate but he liked the obedience. “But we know it’s stupid now. It’s like clinging to Imperial measurements. Except mathematicians would never dream of such insanity. This entire book is meant to overcome an appeal to antiquity and common practice.”

“Ah, _argumentum ad antiquitatem_. Logical fallacy, it’s the American way.”

With a noncommittal grunt at the Canadian throwing shade, Peter returned to the text.

Foolishly and prematurely.

A man of finite capacity for being still and quiet of his own volition, Wade entwined his hand with Peter’s and studied them closely. “You love me? I mean, I know you said it like a bajillion times and all, but that can’t be right, ya know? I still expect to wake up and it’s all a dream, or maybe I’m in a padded castle somewhere hallucinating balls. But I kinda think this is real, though I never know for sure. And Allfather knows I love you like I never believed I could ever love anyone or anything, not even Bea Arthur or Bea and Arthur, but I gotta know that you really mean it, baby boy, because nothing has ever—”

To get a word in edgewise, Peter placed his free hand over Wade’s mouth. “Easy. I love you. Like you hung the moon and starts. Like you make every day worth getting outta bed. I love you like Deadpool pancakes love real Canadian maple syrup, soaking up every last drop I can get.”

With childish abandon his lover hummed Beyonce’s All the Single Ladies before bursting into, “Don’t be mad once you see that he want it.” Yellow giggled as he nuzzled the smaller man’s jaw. “Gotta know you really mean it. Are you sure you’re sure you really like-like us, like…?” He pulled back, shifting until he could see all his lover’s face before crooning, “When somebody needs you, it's no good unless he needs you, all the way.”

“All the way,” Peter repeated. He stroked his thumbs across the big child’s eyelids, guiding them closed. “I’m sure I’m sure I really like-like you, like I love you.”

Muscles loose, Yellow sighed, nodded in his lover’s hands. “Never doubted you for a second, Petey.” He sagged until they sat pressed chest to chest, breathing in sync. “You always smell like hope.”

For long minutes Peter simply stroked the big man’s back. Eventually he gave in and asked, “White? You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah….” The body in his arms stiffened. “Don’t like it, but here I am.”

“What’s not to like?”

“What if I’m the one…?” White trailed off on a note of defeat.

Peter presumed this train was headed toward the same self-depreciating thoughts that normally plagued White, but he wanted the box to make the return trip of his own volition. “The one, what, my monster?”

Voice faint, White whispered, “The one you can’t love.”

“That can’t be right though. Because I love my monster.” When Peter received a mild harrumph in reply, he asked, “Right? Because how do I feel about my monster?”

A prickliness radiated from White, and he made no effort to answer.

Oh, that shit would never do. “Look at me.” None of them had ever refused a direct command in Peter’s Spider-man voice, and now proved no exception. “Tell me how I feel about my monster.”

White ducked, hiding his face, but he replied, “You love me.”

“Look into my eyes and tell me again.”

“You love me.”

“Again.”

His scowl softened. “You love me.”

“Again.”

“You love me.” This time the box broke into a bashful smile.

“I love you. You know I love you. And that’s never going to change.” With one hand on his own collar and the other on his lover’s, he asked, “What’s it going to take for you to believe me?”

“A ring,” White whimpered.

Peter’s mind stuttered. For some reason he’d always imagined Wade would propose. The big man took care of everything else, so maybe this once Peter should take the initiative. Only a few days remained in his punishment, and after that, he’d be back at the helm, again setting their direction as a couple. Besides what better way to show his appreciation than to ask the big dramatic diva to marry him?

“I’d be honored to put a ring on it.” Peter chuckled softly. They weren’t precisely subtle, but damn if they didn’t get their point across.

“And you’re not just sayin’ that to be nice?” Wade asked. This time the corner of the ex-merc’s yellowed eyes bore a sly upturn.

So he wanted to play ‘damned by faint praise’ today? “I would never!” Peter clutched over his heart. “I’ve never been nice a day in my life!”

“Hmph, I’ve seen you be nice on no less than four occasions.”

Meticulous even in the face of fighting words, Peter slid his bookmark into place, closed the slim hardback, and set it on the coffee table. He rolled his neck, then his shoulders. Eager interest radiated from his boyfriend, his lover, his owner, his everything, and he reciprocated with a gentle stroke along the column of the man’s throat. “You think I’m nice?”

Wade swallowed, a bob of his Adam’s apple against the smaller man’s palm. “No, sir, I know you’re very, very mean.”

A tiny smile quirked Peter’s mouth. “That’s more like it. Now unlock me.” He guided his boyfriend to his cage. “I happen to know you like it when I’m mean—”

“Oh, hells to the yes!” Wade’s eyes lit with passion as he freed Peter’s erection. “Nothing I like more, baby boy.”

Hands firm on the big man’s thighs, Peter rolled his hips, memorizing every pained microexpression of desperation that flittered over his lover’s scarred features. “—Like when I make it hurt before I even start ripping you apart.”

“Yes. Please,” the big man croaked, his plea barely above a whisper. Expression radiating sacrosanct awe, the single most deadly man in the city stilled in anticipation. “Make me hurt.”

To have Deadpool at his mercy always proved a headrush, and Peter reveled in the power his lover gave him, as if he and he alone controlled the most destructive force in the universe. The big man craved so much more cruelty than he was willing to dish out, and he wanted to give in. Oh, he knew that was a terrible idea, destructive for his soul despite his owner’s pleasure, but it held a strong appeal if only as proof he deserved Wade’s devotion.

Mind teetering between the plausible and the fantastical, Peter started slow, all attention locked on his boyfriend’s reactions: mouth open to gasp, eyes drawn in a wince, teeth clenched, a grunt as thick wrists wrenched overhead to expose delicate flesh. Wade’s ribs creaked, but his expression gave no hint that a few more pounds of pressure would crack the bones, no indication that the man wouldn’t welcome the crush regardless.

Wade’s chant of _please-please-please_ choked off to huff, “’S fine.”

Confusion snapped Peter back into reality like ice water to the face, and he jerked his hands away even as the bruises under them faded. “Crap, are you okay?”

“Said ’s fine. Break ’em. Do it. Don’t mind. ’S fine. Please.” The mantra resumed, the word itself void of all meaning beyond the desires that bound them.

“’S not fine,” Peter muttered under his breath. Caught up in the older man’s expressions and desires, he’d forgotten who was driving the bus. He resented like hell the thought of spoiling his owner’s good time, but his ragged nerves left him no choice. Barely willing to sound out the syllables, he groaned, “Pineapple.”

The older man sobered at once, though it took several seconds for his eyes to focus. “Peter?”

“’M okay; just need a sec.”

Blinking Wade took in their surroundings from where Peter had webbed his hands to the wall. “What happened?”

“I …I got carried away, nearly hurt you.”

“Oh.” The big man chuckled. “Nothing to worry about then.”

Peter huffed, his temper rising. “Wade, it’s not nothing! I almost harmed the man I love.”

“Can’t harm me so don’t worry your fluff—”

“I can!” With a frustrated growl he shoved his beloved’s overstacked chest, only to be disappointed when the thick plaster wall prevented the oblivious man from budging. “That’s not the point!”

Head tilted the ex-merc glared into the nothingness overhead. “Oh! White says you crossed your own limits like a dumbass, my scrum-diddly-umptious little slice of Petey-pie in the sky.” He shifted to smirk down at Peter.

“Ugh.” A dull pain radiated from the smaller man’s eye as he realized the heel of his palm had struck at the perfectly wrong angle for easing some pressure from his throbbing brain. “You are the worst.”

“I most certainly did not call you a dumbass,” White squawked indignantly.

“Yeah, I know.” Peter flopped against that solid chest, letting the steady lub-dub calm him. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“No, no, no, no, no. This ain’t happening,” Wade protested. With a knife from nowhere he severed the webs that secured him. Hands free, he made a fist and grabbed his forearm just so.

Peter raised a brow. “Oh? Why precisely are you calling a personal foul?”

“You are not stopping sex to get all mopey on me. Can’t you mope while I ride your cock?”

He bowed his head as a snicker tried to escape. “God, Wade—”

“No, that’s Thor. He’s the god. I’m just an immortal with a raging boner.”

“Ungh, the absolute worst.”

“There’s my boy’s horse-shaped honey cake!”

Peter slugged him in the shoulder. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“_Honigkuchenpferd._ Means a big, dorky, toothy grin. In German. Although if anyone’s got a horse-shaped anything—” Wade made a lewd thrust in the air. “C’mon, baby boy; you know you like how Daddy’s cock fills you up all-yummy inside.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Recast as the sex kitten, Peter didn’t hate it, but he wasn’t in that headspace. Coquettish and smooth, he twisted a short curl around his finger. “But that wasn’t where we were going, now was it…?” As he voiced the question, his saccharine coo turned sharp. He leaned down; his barest touch directed his boyfriend to roll over and raise his ass. Rude, his slap landed hard enough to make the big man yelp and leave an angry handprint over the scars. “As I recall we were making you hurt.”

For a heavier, taller, older, remorseless, indestructible, and unstoppable predator, Peter had outright dismissed the ridiculous idea of a barehanded spanking … until the moment Wade groaned, “Fuck, yeah, break out the good shit.” Back swayed, mouth lolled open, eyes shut tight, he thrummed in anticipation of pleasure. “Mmm, make it hurt.”

“My command,” Peter replied.

The loud, fast smacks against his boyfriend’s backside stung his hand, but the way Wade pressed into each, nearly giddy in his eagerness, spurred Peter to keep going despite his awkward position bent over the ex-merc.

“That all you got, baby boy? Blind Al smacks my ass harder than that! C’mon, put some of that proportional spider into the effort.”

“Fine. You asked for it.” Peter hauled his lover up and bent the older man over their table. “Don’t move.” His effort rose to an assault that would have left an average person in a pulverized smear.

A steady stream of pure filth poured from the man’s ever-running mouth: “Oof, don’t stop; Daddy loves it when you’re all strict. Oh yeah, if it don’t hurt, how will I ever learn?” He let out a pained groan as his legs trembled. “Yes, yes, yes, so damned good. Make me scream. You’re so hot when you let loose with all that spider strength.” A pair of particularly hard hits made him yelp. “Now that’s the reason I gotta tug the cyclops every morning; you make me so horny, baby boy. Choke me, slap me, pull my hair.”

Beyond Peter’s control, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “You don’t have hair, Daddy.”

“Well fuck me then. Please, please, please. Just shove it in, baby boy. Want your cock. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you. Fill me up, my spideriest wonder of all the universes.” The more excited he became, the faster he talked. Not a problem until he blurted out, “And in the morning I’m making spank aches for breakfast.”

A snort, that was the appropriate response, but then Peter giggled. The world spun until his back hit the wood floor with a whump.

“Oh? You like that, baby boy?” The scarred visage loomed over his face, smirk wide and feral.

“I like you.” He rolled them. “But seems like some sub has gotten uppity from being in charge.” Not that his life with Wade had ever been anything shy of directing a cyclone of chaos.

At being manhandled, Wade groaned in sheer need. “Please, baby boy, fuck me. Use me. Need me. Take me.”

Peter webbed his lover’s mouth closed but that didn’t stop the effort to speak. He folded the bigger man in half, and the jubilation of expectation lit his boyfriend’s expression. Never breaking eye contact, he fumbled for the lube, then slicked himself purposefully, watched as his lover’s joy glazed over with lust.

When Wade started to squirm with impatience, his smaller boyfriend aligned their bodies but made no move to penetrate him. He wriggled and pushed, not allowed to make the connection. He whimpered through his nose, then stilled.

“That’s a good Daddy.” Peter rewarded him with a brush of cock between his cheeks. “So very good.”

The gagged man managed shrill whine.

Achingly slowly Peter breached his lover, a tease with just the tip.

Wade flexed and twitched before grabbing Peter’s ass to pull him deeper.

An effort he denied. “You want more?”

Wade nodded enthusiastically, a steady moan seeping from him.

“Well why didn’t you say so?”

As Peter gradually sank to the hilt in living heat, Wade’s scowl melted into a mask of delicious agony. Breaths fast and clipped he struggled to do anything except lay back and take what his younger boyfriend gave him. Rocking his hips hard, clawing Peter’s back and pulling his ass, nothing propelled the smaller man forward any faster.

Peter smirked down. “Mmm, I think I’ll take this nice and slow. Make gentle, easy love to my adoring boyfriend.”

Frustrated, absolutely wrecked, Wade pleaded with his eyes while groaning wordless sobs of _more_ and _harder_ and _faster_ and _please, please, please_. Muscles tight, body straining until he trembled, the big man finally stilled, a fair impression of being tame.

Thank the powers that be, because Peter couldn’t hold out much longer. His quick, rough thrust punched the air from the man below him, making the ex-merc huff through his nose. Peter drove into him so hard he skidded a few inches along the floor. The webbing finally gave way to a gratified wail. Wade tossed his head back, thrashed. Each deep stroke made him shake harder until his eyes rolled back and a pulsing stream of jizz erupted between them.

“’M close.”

Wade wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck and his legs around Peter’s waist, grinding up to meet each punishing drive of his lover’s thick erection into his convulsing, hypersensitive body, the combination of pain and pleasure etched into the rigid lines of his face. At the edge of his own release, Peter hitched, his head bobbing as a counterbalance to his last ragged thrusts. Then he spilled inside the man who rippled and fluttered around his jerking cock.

Before collapsing, Peter shifted his arms so Wade could drop his legs. Then he toppled to the big man’s chest, breathless and happy.

After several minutes of silence, Wade asked, “So how goes the asshole patrol’s recruitment efforts?”

“Hmph, I might consider it if they didn’t treat you like my sidekick or some—”

“Side dick? Baby boy, I’d best be your only damned dick, except for your own of course, ’cause it’d just be sad to lose that precious cock to some wayward—”

“Wade, I said sidekick.”

“Well ’m not that either.”

“That’s what I told ’em.” Though Peter dropped his head in exaggerated disappointment, he still huffed out a chuckle. “You’re an idiot.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

***

Peter landed in a crouch on the streetlight as the car’s driver hit the horn. The gray-haired woman in the crosswalk broke into a sprint, safely reaching the sidewalk well before the car zipped through the intersection. She continued on her way, unaware of the vigilante overhead.

With a disappointed sigh Peter dropped down beside his boyfriend.

The ex-merc booped his nose. “Granny needs to enroll in the senior Olympics.”

“Well, she certainly didn’t need Spider-man’s help.”

“Hey, that was the most excitement we’ve seen all night.” Arms crossed Wade turned on the puppy eyes. “Can we go home now?”

“It’s only been two hours.” Still Peter glanced around the calm streets and closed storefronts.

“Two hours of boorriing.” Wade draped over the smaller man and slumped, letting his weight settle on his boyfriend. “Bored. Bored, bored, bored. Boredity-bored-bored-bored.” He pushed down just a little more. “You always say a bored Deadpool is a destructive Deadpool, so save the city and entertain me, spiderling.”

With a grunt of annoyance, Peter swiped a hand down his face. “How bout this: give it another thirty minutes, and if things don’t pick up, we’ll go watch Detective Pikachu.”

“You’re popping the popcorn. You make the best popcorn.” Wade again stood on his own power, letting the younger man lead the way forward.

Less than an hour later, Peter placed the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and turned to regard the enigma he adored.

“Sexy librarian,” Wade stated, apropos of nothing. “I forgot the sexy librarian.”

“Well I’m sure you’ll have time—”

“I’ll have you know the rest of bootcamp is jammed full of sexy-times fun!” Wade huffed, then blinked up in faux innocence. “I’m just a naïve freshman, and I need help finding the raunchiest thing on the shelves, Mr. Sexy Librarian, sir.”

“Hey, ’m in charge for another forty-seven minutes!”

He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules; I just break ’em.”

By muscle memory Peter adjusted an imaginary pair of glasses. “Do you want reference, magazine, anthology, novel, poetry—?”

“Anth—no, poetry. Oh, definitely poetry.” Wade leered down, smug.

Movie cancelled Peter rolled his eyes but diligently googled _steamy poems_. “Here we are: thirteen of the steamiest poems ever written.”

Mincing closer Wade bit his lip. “Will you read them to me?” he asked as he ran a hand down his own chest. “Please, Mr. Sexy Librarian? You’re the one who said I should never be left unsupervised.” His entire body twisted back and forth as if anxious and giddy from his own naughtiness. Hugging himself he raised one heel, letting the knee turn inward. “These are such adult poems, and I’m such an innocent girl, with no experience in the world.”

Peter frowned. “We have a dress code here, Miss Winsome; you’d do well to remember that. Unless you simply _want_ a reminder?”

“Oh, no sir, Mr. Librarian, sir.” Mouth rounded Wade rubbed one ass cheek. “I’m already a dinosaur.”

Peter sensed the trap but took the bait anyway. “Miss Winsome, you are no such thing.”

“I am.” His lover leaned into his personal space, lips brushing his cheek. “I’m a mega-sore-ass.”

“Go put on your uniform.” With a chortle capering at the edge of escape, he paused to cement his stern scowl into place. “I don’t want to catch you wandering the sacred halls of this venerable institution dressed like common riffraff again. But yes, as soon as you’re properly attired you may join me at the table for a poetry reading.”

Elated Wade scurried to the bedroom and hurled himself into the closet. “But I like the red plaid… Fine, green plaid but I wanna keep the red tie… I don’t care if we look like a Christmas tree… So the sweater or the jacket…? Well, duh, the lingerie is just a given… Wait, repeat that… Yellow, you’re the—epi-pen? epi-lator? yes, right—epi-tome of idiot savants.”

With that mentally scarring play on words, Peter turned his attention to clearing the table. After a moment’s consideration he even tucked his paddle out of sight. He flipped through several pages of poems and settled on a short modern piece before arranging his laptop at the far edge of easy reach from his seat.

Wade flounced back into the room with the bubbly energy he always gained when crossdressing. The man’s deep-V, rabbit-soft sweater clung to his chest, hunter green with a crest sewn in golden thread. Under it a plaid skirt fluttered, barely long enough to conceal the curve of his ass. Knee-high, cable-knit white socks completed the look, a delicious feminine contrast to the heavy muscles and wide jaw.

Phone on a flexible tripod, he shifted from foot to foot shyly enough to give his small lover second-hand anxiety. “Dr. Parker, I always record my lessons so I can listen again later. Will it be okay—?”

“Miss Winsome, stop that incessant squirming and take your seat.” Peter withheld his answer until the older man settled. “Yes, you may record this reading, but please pay attention in the present. Any hint of your mind wandering, and I won’t hesitate to handle your punishment myself.”

“Thank you, Dr. Parker.”

While the big man set up his phone to record, just as Peter had in many a class over the years, he didn’t miss the trace of a secretive grin on those scarred lips. “Whatever silly idea is floating in that cotton-candy brain of yours, I suggest you forget it, Miss Winsome; I won’t tolerate shenanigans in my library.”

“Yes, Dr. Parker.” That smirk only grew wider and more determined.

Peter cleared his throat and began: “’Submission’ by connie. From depths of oceans of your drink, we soar, and in the name of pleasure, I begin. I drink you dry and then I milk for more.” With his attention on giving a good show, the brush of hands on his waistband startled him into a jerk. Despite his boyfriend’s presence under the table he recovered, barely a hitch in his recitation as Wade opened his fly. “Upon my knees, I suck like ne’er before. Hair tangled ‘round your hands, I take you in. From depths of oceans of your drink, we soar.”

While Wade removed the cock cage, Peter’s words scalded, their depth only enhanced by the hot mouth that engulfed his cock. The first poem fell steadily from his lips. Eyes intent on the screen he maintained his professorly demeanor, ignoring the tendrils of desire that radiated from below the table, hidden from the camera lens. When he began the second poem, his invisible audience hummed in approval, causing a spasm that made his voice hitch. By the third, he trembled, hot around the face, struggling to steady the artistic filth that continued to flow from him in trembling words.

Peter couldn’t be bother to fuss over selection and read the next poem he saw. “X's and O's are for kisses and hugs / The two of us naked, on a bear skin rug. / The fireplace glows, like our passion so hot / I kiss your neck, on that; special spot.” The singsong of ChryWizard’s X’s and O’s made the poem too predictable, leaving space in Peter’s mind for the distraction of Wade’s ministrations off camera. His voice cracked as the couple in the poem neared climax. Tone husky, wrecked, he growled, “Miss Winsome, please stand with both hands on the table.”

Wade chuckled, deep and full, before emerging. Once he had his hands in place he blinked innocently. “But, Dr. Parker, what did I do wrong?”

Standing Peter asked, “Why did you come to the library today? Did you really want to hear poems, or were you hoping for a more educational experience?”

“Oh, Dr. Parker, I’m just an innocent girl who needs supervision to keep her mind from straying from the literary merits, or lack thereof, of that insanely hot doggerel. Terrible execution but absolute flaming smut.” Wade fanned himself, earning a swift slap on his ass. Hand back on the table, he added, “Sorry, sir. I’ll be a good girl.”

“It’s too late for that now, Miss Winsome.” Peter lifted the skirt, tucking the hem into the waistband to reveal a pair of lace-covered rumba panties in Deadpool’s dark red.

“Please don’t spank me — it hurts so bad — I’ll do anything you want.” Lashless lids fluttered as Wade peered over his shoulder. “Anything.”

“Have some decorum, young lady! I’ll not be bribed. Now lower those non-regulation panties, bend over the table, and brace yourself.” Peter let his boyfriend anticipate the sting of the yardstick as he presented his body. At the snap of a bottle of lube opening, the bigger man glanced back, smirk firmly enshrined, while he slicked his cock and his lover’s entrance. “I don’t think you understand the meaning of these works, but rather than talk myself hoarse…” He sank balls deep in one firm stroke. “I’d rather show you.”

A low, sultry gasp seeped from Wade as he rolled his hips into the stroke, shoving back, forcing his boyfriend’s cock as deep as possible. Higher and breathier, he replied, “Thank you, Dr. Parker; you’ve always been so patient with me, never make me feel silly when I don’t understand.”

“Not at all, Miss Winsome, my pleasure as always.” With that first firm piston into the big man’s heat, Peter lost all pretense. “Mine.” A primal, possessive growl rumbled in his chest, and he grabbed his boyfriend’s elbows to pull the man into the slam of his hips. “Every marked inch, every half-baked thought: mine.” With his violent thrusts, the table skittered several inches across the floor. “All you are … all you were … all you’ll ever be … mine.”

Cheek to the table, eyes glazed in ecstasy, Wade affirmed, “Yours.”

Gripping the older man’s waist, Peter practically fucked himself with his lover’s massive body. Though he’d enjoyed the month of submission to his creative boyfriend, he’d missed this primal claim on the man he loved. And judging by the breathless gasps and eager moans, Wade had as well.

Blind in his need, Peter crested as wildfire scorched his skin and lightning contracted his muscles. With all the air punched from his body, his mouth hung open in a silent scream. He convulsed, lungs screaming for air, as he painted his lover’s insides, marking him as claimed.

Only when Wade whimpered and tried to curl in on himself, did Peter notice he’d lost control of his strength. Guilty, he released his grip. His lover panted and wailed, his lava-hot body fluttering and milking every last drop from Peter’s cock even as the bigger man jerked and trembled with waves of debilitating pleasure. By the time Wade stilled, the livid, mottled bruising under his lover’s hands had faded.

“I’m so sorry, Wa—” Peter began as he pulled out from his boyfriend’s overheated body.

Words tumbled from Wade’s lips, drowning out his apology. “Oh, holy Moses and his pearls of wisdom, that was amazing, baby boy.”

With a soft blush, still embarrassed by such praise, Peter replied in a pleased titter, “Thank you, Daddy.”

The day ended a few minutes later, with Peter curled under his blankets. Cock cage back in place, one arm wrapped around an eager but indulgent Yellow, and a sappy grin plastered to his face, he drifted off into blobs of meaningless colors and muted white noise, his contentment dully electric on his tongue.


	30. Day 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yellow has his way with Peter. A lot and often.
> 
> But he's still not revealed the Number Five Surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth, but the bad meds are better meds now.
> 
> I forgot what I was doing and omitted the number five surprise. Oops. So you guys get a bonus chapter to round out the day.

Yellow snagged Peter’s shorts, preventing him from tugging them up his legs. “No! Not yet!” A hot hand landed another searing smack across his ass, red and hot from the postponed reminder spanking immediately after his morning correction. “Let me look…. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Yeah, corner, right, he has a corner…”

Still half asleep despite the fire across his bruised backside, Peter almost took a step in that direction before he realized that those words weren’t intended for him, even if he was the only other person present. Instead he remained statue still, thumbs under the waistband of his boxer briefs at midthigh. A heavy push at the small of his back encouraged him to cant his hips, displaying his abused flesh to the box who’d marked him.

A pleasantly nostalgic chemical wafted in the air, but Peter needed a moment to place it. “Yellow, why does the house smell like old-fashioned camera film?”

“I remembered to put the ropes out to dry.”

“Obviously.” He nodded, as though that reply answered anything. “So … these ropes? Nitrate?”

“Number five surprise,” Yellow supplied, his answer thoroughly unhelpful in any way. “Wadey said you’d like it.”

If Peter wanted a straight answer, he’d have to pick a new starting point. “So what’s the theme of the day?”

“Theme?” The box sounded positively baffled.

“Yeah, like pirates or spy noir or primal.”

“Oh…” After a long pause he asked, “We need a theme?”

“Well, no…” This was getting Peter nowhere.

“Ooh, we could play army men!”

“Um … okay?” Leery of Yellow losing himself in his imagination, Peter scrambled for the right words to tease more info from the cryptic little shit without breaking from his submissive role too badly.

“Screw you, Mom; I can remember that it’s Petey!”

_White to the rescue._ Peter snickered at the thought, pleased that White had obviously been gentle with his roommate.

“You, go play with Wadey, and you…” Yellow smacked one sit spot, then the other. “Something funny here, re cruit?”

“Sir, no, sir.” Peter broke into giggles.

“Oh, I think there is.” The box snuffled across his back and sides, drifting lower. “I definitely smell something funny.”

Strained from the effort to hold his awkward position as he fought a losing battle against giggling from the tickling breaths, Peter opened his hands to rest some of his weight on his thighs. Before he could form a reply, rough thumbs parted his throbbing cheeks. His cock jumped in its cage; the harsh tug on his balls sobered him enough to calm his levity.

Yellow settled to his knees behind his boy. “That delicious, funny smell is around here somewhere.” After an exhale steamed across the exposed flesh, he took a deep sniff before nuzzling against the younger man’s plug. “This ass is the only thing I’ve ever prayed for harder than my precious red.” He launched into a rambling benediction to Peter’s ass that left the smaller man equally awed and mortified.

Embarrassed by his arousal at that sinful inhale, heat licked along Peter’s cheeks and ears, raced down his chest. Sure, he was vexed that anyone, even Yellow, would purposefully seek the musk of his most intimate recess, but in shameful truth, his ego preened, pleased to be desired in his totality. Unwilling to admit his pleasure at any portion of Yellow’s declaration, he allowed himself to revel in the decadent physical sensations of Yellow’s devout worship.

With a groan Yellow commented, “Did you know, the more stressed you get, the stronger you smell?”

“No, I…” Peter’s leaping blush flamed at the vulgar implication. “How…?” _Pheromones, no brain connection_, his mind supplied without helping him form a coherent thought.

“So much sweeter than fear.” The box nudged the plug again, then gasped in delight. “Oh, I just wanna eat you all up.” That didn’t have the doting ring of his aunt’s friends or even Wade; no, the tone hinted of a cannibal gourmand nearing the limits of his self-restraint.

“You can’t eat your Petey and have him too,” Peter reminded gently, no fear in his words.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna.” Teeth nipped at one globe, barely enough to leave a mark. With a melancholy sigh, Yellow tugged up the smaller man’s shorts as he rose to his feet. He wrapped around his lover like a particularly needy octopus, using all four limbs. Thankfully his substantial weight still made an easy burden. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Peter asked, squeezing along the thighs that clung around his hips.

“You … trust me?”

Unsure how to interpret that answer, he chuckled. “I do.”

A shrill, giddy whoop pierced his eardrum. “Say that again.”

“I trust you, Yellow.”

“No, say what you said before again.”

“I do,” Peter repeated, amused. A pleased rumble strummed against his back. “Coffee. No games until I get coffee.”

“Oh, no, I let you sleep like a good box. Now it’s time to play. And Wadey said you like to play horsey. So giddy-up.”

As Yellow dug his heels under Peter’s ribs, the younger man fought off the urge to sigh. “Might we make the kitchen our first stop, oh great and merciful box?”

“Fine.” Yellow huffed sullenly against his neck. “You can have your precious coffee first, but ’s gonna cost ya.”

“Thank you, Yellow.”

“Sunday fun day, Sunday fun day, Sunday fun day!” he chanted as he rode Peter to the kitchen. “Hurry, hurry, I wanna shower with you!”

At least Peter had loaded the grounds and water before bed, so all he had to do was press the button. “This would go faster if you stood on your own two feet.”

“Hmph, you’re no fun!” Still the box unraveled from his boyfriend. “Playing army men is fun though; you still wanna play army men, Petey? ‘You little scumbag! I got your name! I got your ass! You will not laugh! You will not cry! You will learn by the numbers! I will teach you! Now get up! Get on your feet! You had best unfuck yourself, or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!’”

_Full Metal Jacket_, his brain supplied sluggishly. “Coffee first. Then we’ll play whatever you want.”

While staring into the fridge, the box mumbled, “Breakfast. Am I supposed to make you breakfast?”

“You hafta make time for me to eat at some point, but it doesn’t have to be right this second.”

“But Whitey made you pancakes?”

“Yes, Wade and White have both made me pancakes.” Peter drew his gaze from the dark nectar dripping into the carafe. “But you don’t have to make me pancakes. You could have me make something for you if—”

“Ooh, fruit. I like fruit. Do we have fruit?”

With an indulgent grin Peter nodded to the brimming bowl on the table.

“But that’s just apples and oranges and bananas. Where’s the kiwi? The cumquat? The mango-zee-tango?”

“Still at the store?” Peter stroked gently down the back of his boyfriend’s neck. “But we have frozen tropical fruit and whipping cream, so I could make smoothies?”

“None of that yogurt stuff, though, right? Because bleh.” Yellow puckered up like he’d been sucking lemons.

“None of that yogurt stuff,” Peter promised. “At least not in yours.”

“Can I have nuts and ice cream in mine?”

“It’s your Sunday fun day sundae.”

“So it is.” Yellow grinned brightly. “Get to work, boy, chop-chop!” He emphasized his command with a stinging karate chop to his lover’s shoulder.

While Peter set up the blender and fruit, Yellow wandered off. Soon Billy Joel blared from Wade’s laptop: “We didn't start the fire. It was always burning since the world's been turning.” As he sang, the box danced along, bopping in time with the beat.

When Peter handed him a tall glass with a wide straw, he plopped happily onto the couch and patted the seat beside him.

“Mind if I get my smoothie and another cup of coffee first?”

“Fine, but when you get back you’ll hafta sit on the floor. This was a one-time deal, Petey.”

“Yes, Yellow.” Peter returned with his breakfast and settled at the box’s feet.

“Hey! Coffee doesn’t brew faster without me on your back!”

Hands full, the younger man bit the back of his wrist to keep a loud guffaw at bay. “No, but our breakfast does. Er, not brew, but, ya know, exist, blend, whatever.”

“’M keepin’ my eye on you.” Yellow used one finger to point to his own eye, then the younger man.

Peter shuddered at the unwelcome memory of Yellow’s impulsiveness. “Do not pull out an eyeball to put on my shoulder.”

“No fair, I’m s’pose’ta be in charge!”

“What would it take to convince you that that’s a bad idea? First of all, that’s gotta hurt.”

“Yeah, but the look on your face!”

With a bemused snort, he asked, “You just wanna freak me out? Seriously?”

“Well, I mean, yeah?” The box crossed thick arms across his even thicker chest.

Head against the bigger man’s knee, Peter drew a long sip of icy slush from his smoothie. “So you wanna shock me?”

“There’s the car battery Wadey used—”

“Figuratively shock,” Peter added.

“Well, I have an old extension cord?”

“Still not figurative.”

“Wiring diagram’s a figure,” Yellow protested.

Today, Peter realized, was going to be a long, long Sunday fun day. Wade and White had left the entire day to Yellow, which meant, yay, they trusted him with Peter — or maybe they trusted Peter with the volatile box — but, either way, boo, they didn’t guide Yellow to make a plan, leaving that job to Peter, while he was supposed to be the sub. _So topping from the bottom it is._

“May your boy make a suggestion, oh great and powerful box?”

“Fine, fire away,” Yellow answered, tone sullen. He nudged Peter’s cheek with his knee none too gently.

“How ’bout we finish breakfast, take that shower, get dressed, and then worry about what to do next??”

Yellow turned Peter by a fistful of hair until their gazes met. “I still get t’ be boss?”

“We do whatever you want … sir.”

As Yellow yanked his boyfriend’s head back, he let out a happy squeal. “Okay, then, we’ll do what my boy suggests until I decide I wanna do different.”

“Thank you, Yellow.” Peter put his drinks on the coffee table so he could twine both arms around his boyfriend’s calf. “Your boy is grateful for your kindness.”

Yellow’s grin rounded as he grasped the implication. “Ooh, show me, show me, show me!”

Peter got to his knees and reached into his lover’s sweatpants.

“No, wait, not here. Show me in the shower! Wanna see you all dripping wet, on your knees, my cock in that sweet, filthy mouth of yours. C’mon!” Yellow burst to his feet and scrambled for the bathroom, a hand still latched into Peter’s hair, tugging him along on all fours. “Fuck! I love it when you crawl for me, boy!”

_Too easy._

Yellow let the water run a moment before stepping into the cool spray and dragging Peter in after him, both still dressed. The box shoved down his sweats and boxers. “Now, suck it!” He shifted so the warming water pelted the younger man’s face.

Peering up through wet lashes, Peter leaned forward and licked a drop of precome from the big man’s slit. While the box shivered at the sensation, he wrapped his lips around his lover’s cock, then hummed softly as he sucked it deeper.

“Oh, Petey! That slut mouth stretched wide, water streamin’ down those flushed cheeks like a million fat tears, I knew you look good on your knees, but damn, that’s a million times hotter.” Two hands gripped tight in the smaller man’s hair. “’M gonna fuck that pretty face, make you choke on it.” The box broke into a fast, hard sprint for his finish.

Barely getting enough air, Peter’s mind floated. Like the eye of a storm, his world calmed to just the sensations of his mouth being used for his boyfriend’s pleasure, leaving a quiet joy in his chest. His mere presence inspired an animalistic lust in his boyfriend that left him feeling desirable, wanted in a way that crowded out his impression of himself as a nerdy, pasty little nobody outside Spidey’s costume.

Yellow tilted back, let out a feral snarl, and jerked in place. While he milked himself into the smaller man’s mouth, Peter blinked up, smugly satisfied that he inspired such complete loss of control in all three personalities.

Of course Yellow never stayed down long. After a few deep breaths, he tugged Peter to his feet and finally peeled away their sopping clothes. Next the box stripped away his boyfriend’s cage and plug, leaving the younger man feeling exposed.

“Rub-a-dub-dub, two pricks in the tub. And whose might they be? My Spidey and me’s.” Yellow laughed, obviously feeling witty. “I know an old boxie who swallowed a spidums, that wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside ’ims!” He stopped his singsong long enough to say, “Get to scrubbing, boy.”

Peter grabbed the soap, lathered his hands, then smoothed them over his lover’s chest.

“It’s raining; it’s pouring. Triple J is boring. I bumped his head, put him to bed, and he ain’t gettin’ up in the morning.” With minimal prodding the box turned in the spray to present his back. “Itsy bitsy Petey rode cross the Brooklyn Bridge—”

“’M not itsy nor bitsy.”

“—down came the Deadpool and yoinked the Petey out.”

“Dammit, Yellow…” Remembering his role before he could issue an ultimatum, Peter shut his mouth and focused on his task.

“Out came the Spidey to web up all the Mercs. The itsy bitsy Petey was awful late for work.”

***

After five solid hours of keeping up with Yellow, Peter must have crawled a full marathon. He’d been pushed, prodded, folded, bit, jabbed, and climbed. Oh, and don’t forget fucked; he’d been denied release on every surface the box could find, in every position the box could conceive, for as long as the box could keep his dick hard. Peter felt like a used love doll. If he had any hope of ever reviving his humanity, he needed a hot meal, a steamy solo shower, a long nap, and maybe a cigarette if the movies were to be believed.

Oh, and a nut. Did he mention a nut? The box had milked him to keep the blue balls tolerable, but he’d really appreciate an opportunity to empty them properly.

While Cheap Trick played the opening rifts of Ain’t That a Shame, Yellow jerked his hips in his best Elvis impersonation and sang along: “You made me cry, when you said goodbye…”

Content to let the box amuse himself, Peter called over the music, “How does Greek sound for lunch?”

Yellow flashed a thumbs up. He gyrated his way out of the room while Peter placed their order.

Just as the smaller man tossed his phone onto the table, his boyfriend’s voice boomed, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Was that even Yellow?

“Um, noth—” Peter started as he hurried to where his angry owner stood in front of the dressing mirror.

“Watching us dance? Why the hell would you want to do that?” Wade demanded, though that openly shocked expression belonged to Yellow.

“I wanted to see the pretty muscles!” the box snapped, his brow furrowed.

Fascinated, Peter froze. He’d never gotten both sides of their conversation before.

“Have you finally jumped completely off high dive and landed flat on your face in loony land?”

Yellow turned their body to face the mirror. “Damn you, Wadey, look. Just look!” He tapped the glass and grinned at his reflection. “We’re hot, you asshole. I’d definitely do me.”

“You’d do a knot in a tree.”

“Just that one time. I wanted to make an ent,” Yellow whined, then looked stricken. Mouth rounded and eyes daggers, his demeanor suggested both a battered toddler and an enraged madman. “Dammit, Wadey, really look at us, you gaping pustule on a crack whore’s carbuncle.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” The tone of the question put a chill in Peter’s veins.

Hands balled at his side, Yellow shrieked, “Fuck you, Wadey, look and see.” The big man’s expression went blank.

With no tantrum from Yellow, Peter wanted to slump in relief, but with no one driving the bus_, _he hurried forward to guide his lover to sit on the couch.

Instead Wade pushed him back, out of arms’ reach. “What have you done?”

“Me?” The younger man blinked. His confusion slowly morphed into mounting annoyance. “Me?” he asked again, low and furious, gesturing to his chest with both hands. “You and White had him convinced he’s ugly.”

“We are ugly.” Wade growled, a low warning.

“No. You’re not.” Peter fought against the urge to scream those words, and they came out through clenched teeth. “You have, what, one open sore right now, and it’s inside your cheek? No one can even see it! And scars? So what? We all have scars!”

“Not like this.” Wade swirled his pointer finger around his ever-shifting face.

Peter ran the back of his hand under his nose, surprised to find the area damp. “I get it; okay? I fuckin’ get that the scars make you self-conscious, but damn, you make me crazy, talking shit about my boyfriend.”

A moment later, Wade winced and curled in on himself. Anguish lined his features. Wade wavered on weak legs but still turned toward the mirror.

For a long time he only stared, obviously picking out every flaw while Yellow continued to scream in his mind.

Peter stroked along his lover’s cheek and stopped to thumb the fishhook-shaped scar on the older man’s jaw. “I like this one.”

Wade nodded. “Thirteenth birthday present from my dad.” His voice barely carried.

Peter shifted his focus to the jagged pock at his owner’s temple. “And this one?”

“Just a stick. Basic training. Rope broke. Barely turned away in time to keep my eye.”

The retired mercenary continued to stare at his scars, the earliest ones silvery and pale, the newer ones, pink at the edges as they shifted across his skin. No inch of his body, inside or out, had been spared a reminder of his cancer, his torture, his deaths, but Wade survived every fatal thing life flung at him.

Including Peter.

Who made to slip between the older man and his reflection.

Wade nudged him back gently. “No, let me … look.”

With a soft hum meant to comfort, Peter pressed a series of kisses over his boyfriend’s back. “You know, I like what you see.” He caught both big biceps in a loose grip, hoping to stop the fist if Wade decided to shatter their only full-size mirror. “I love your masculine features, your strong body. Your eyes are—”

“They’re jaundiced and sick.” The words sounded dazed, distant.

“They’re also expressive.” Peter nuzzled against the tense muscles between his lover’s shoulder blades. “All of you. I love all of you.” This moment caught him unprepared, and he scrambled to remember all the things he wanted to show Wade. “When I see your scars all I think is you’re a survivor.”

“Nobody should survive a tenth of this.” His words lacked heat; they lacked any emotion at all.

Muscle tone surged under Peter’s fingers, and he tightened his grip, prepared for a fight.

“Speed, surprise, and violence of execution, bitches…. Well, screw you too.” Yellow shot a bird at his reflection. “It’s my time with Petey, so you two can fuck off.” He spun to face the younger man. “Now where were we?”

A knock came at the door before Peter could reply. “Hey, guys, it’s Aubry from Gyro Hut.”

***

Wade rubbed his own healing lotion over Peter’s scuffed knees. “No more making Petey-pie crawl… Well, no more today… Because what did I say will happen if our lovey dovey lucky ducky isn’t in good enough shape to work tomorrow…? That’s right, repulsor beam right up the ol’ poop chute. Now quit abusing our creampuff of glorious fillings just for shits and giggles…” He paused and tipped his head. “Yeah, fine, bootcamp requires a little abuse, but ’s time to reel it back. Particularly if you wanna play army men. Unless you want our Petey-pie to be discharged early from bootcamp for your failure to adapt…’S what I thought.”

The ex-merc turned his attention to the man sitting on the padded barrier. “You good?”

“Yeah, ’m fine.” After the Mirror Tantrum, his boyfriend had become doubly reluctant to leave him alone with Yellow. “Such a worrywart.”

“And don’t you forget it.” The Dora the Explorer bandaid Wade placed on one knee had no hope of staying in place by itself, so he added a half mile of kinesiology tape before taping the other knee and slapping a pink daisy sticker over it. “Just a reminder for dipshit.”

“Be nice.”

The big man gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “A reminder for our less-than-rememberful box friend. There, that better?” He quirked a brow.

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.” Peter beamed his most beatific smile.

“Don’t you ‘yes, Daddy’ me. I know when my baby boy is being a manipulative brat; falls under the umbrella of takes one to know one.”

Peter had shown immense restraint in submitting while Wade mother-henned his afternoon with the box. Rather than defend his innocence, he answered, “Sorry, Daddy.”

Hands on hips, the older man turned serious again. “You need a break before I let Yellow out?”

Peter already knew he didn’t, but he paused to ensure his boyfriend didn’t think he was being flippant with his wellbeing. “No, ’s fine; ’m ready.”

“Hmph, nothin’ but a toddler.” That earlier tantrum weighed heavily in Wade’s glare.

“He is.” Peter petted along his worried lover’s cheek. “But he minds what I say better than most kids.”

“Right … and most kids have gone first-person shooter on an intel mission just because a horse in New Orleans made him think of Red Dead Redemption.”

“Okay, point taken.” Peter blew a strand of hair off his forehead. “Are you saying _no_ now, after you searched every inch of the Hulk’s obstacle course for anything resembling a weapon?”

“I’m saying White and I both have reservations.” Wade passed his boyfriend a fake pistol. “This is what Yellow should have.”

Heavy and unfamiliar in his hands, Peter tilted the raven-blue slab of metal, noting that it had no sights, no safety, and no magazine release. With the prop so much smoother than an actual weapon, he felt a bit of relief, considering where Yellow would invariably decide to put it. Tilting it toward his face, he noted that the barrel didn’t even have a bore. Instead an engraving on the muzzle end remarked, _You may not be so lucky._

Wade tutted. “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”

“It’s not real.” Peter tried to laugh off the ex-merc’s concern.

The big guy wasn’t having it. “Just do as I say, not as I do, and quit looking down the barrel, alright? White and I will both be keeping tabs on Yellow, but he’s faster and more creative than the average idiot. Any hint that he’s got a real weapon, you pineapple outta the game.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “Wade, I’ll be fine.”

“You better. Because otherwise I’m cancelling the number five surprise, and you’ll never-ever know what Yellow had planned. That’ll be your big regret on your deathbed, the last question you ask before your curiosity kills you: _What’s the number five surprise? Gee, I guess I’ll never know._” As Wade mimicked his lover’s higher voice, he goosed the back of the younger man’s knee. “We’ll never tell. So you better damned well be fine. If that box gets confused and hurts our—”

“He’ll be a good box, Daddy.” Eyes locked on Wade, Peter twirled his tongue along the cold, metallic barrel before sucking it into his mouth. If that didn’t distract his lover from his worries, nothing would.

Ah, there was that lecherous grin. “I always knew you’d look good with your lips around Delores.”

Peter scrunched his nose at the thought. With an obscene slurp and a loud pop, he pulled the fake gun from his mouth. “Don’t think Mrs. Johnson really wants to be covered in spit. Won’t that make her rust?”

“Not if I clean and oil her right after.” Flashing a wolfish leer Wade watched his boyfriend’s tongue dart out to taste the metal again. He firmed up his boy’s grip. “That one’s yours. Can’t shoot an unarmed man. It’s the law of the west.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So … are there, like, points or rules or something?”

“Only rule’s don’t get unalived, baby boy.”

Peter studied the terrain of the obstacle course. “No ball to steal? No flag to protect?”

“Just the brass ring: your perfect, decadent ass.” Wade passed him a shoulder holster before pinching said ass for emphasis. “Oh, and no pistol whipping. These suckers hurt.”

To the air above his boy’s head, he added, “Yeah, well, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw us, but since you promised Petey-pie and Iron Britches you’d be on your best behavior… Just be a good box to our Petey-pie, okay?”

“Okay.” Mouth round, Yellow nodded before giving a salute. “I’ll be good.”

Peter hid a secret little smile behind his hand. That exchange went well, all things considered. “Just remember that our clothes stay on til we’re in our suite. Otherwise Mr. Stark will be disappointed in us both. And we don’t want to disappoint Mr. Stark.”

“Mmm, dunno, makes my dick hard when he yells.” Yellow’s smirk dared the younger man to contradict him.

“That so?” Peter slipped inside his lover’s arms. “Except, see, you might be an asshole, but you’re my asshole, and I’m not sharing.”

“Ooh, possessive Petey, me likey.” Brow cocked, the box froze for a long moment before yelping, “Wait, no fair! I gotta share!”

“Shots fired,” Peter teased. He dropped from his lover’s grasp, lunged for the nearest cover, and then zipped toward the interior of the course before scrambling upward.

“Pew, pew, pew!” Yellow hollered, fake gun drawn as he rounded the padded barrier. “Hey, where’d ya go?”

From a platform overhead, Peter squeezed off a ball of webbing that struck his lover mid-chest.

“Bad spoider!” The big man disappeared behind a tall spindle.

Peter circled around. By the time he gained a line of sight, he found no hint of the box. Muffled footsteps scrambled behind him, but he spun to find himself alone. _Keep moving._ Path erratic, he darted toward the platform at the middle of the room.

Between the high ground and his enhanced senses, he expected to find the loud and careless box easily. Instead, no matter which way he turned, unseen eyes drilled into his back. _The transporter._ Not daring to stay in one spot any longer, he took off on a jagged route around the space. Between switchbacks, he backtracked at near random intervals, keeping his travel both fluid and unpredictable.

None of it helped. Yellow stayed behind him and out of sight. His footfalls seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

A manic giggle, too close and too sudden, made Peter jump, but when he turned, the box had gone. His spidey sense remained silent, even as the next laugh barked out from multiple locations, spurring his paranoia.

_Screw this._ Peter had to quit playing to his lover’s strengths. If he wanted the box to respect him in the morning, he needed to mount an offense, any offense. He jerked to a halt; eyes closed he let his other senses take over until the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck indicated a presence creeping up behind him.

Jump. Twist. Fire. Land.

The web ball knocked Yellow off his feet. When Peter stood over him, the box peered up with smitten adoration. “Enemy down; you not gonna take the shot?”

The younger man shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, if you insist.” He glanced to his holster.

Before Peter’s mind registered the motion, Yellow had his weapon against his lover’s temple. The big man’s bulk leaned heavily against his shoulder. “Poor little genius boy.” The box snorted. “I might be an idiot, but you took your eyes off an unsecured prisoner.” With a whoop he broke into a victory dance as he looped pre-tied rope cuffs around Peter’s wrists and slid the slack through his collar to serve as a lead. “Got you, got you, got you! Your ass is mine, Petey!” With the smaller man tethered, he punched the air. “Take that, Whitey! In your face, Mr. ‘It’s my body; go get your own!’”

Though tempted to break loose, Peter decided wisdom was the better part of valor. He had no interest in testing Wade’s supposition that Yellow could best him. As his sweat cooled, he noted the one detail he’d hoped to avoid: Yellow had a real pistol gripped in one ham-sized fist. Peter didn’t want to call the game—it seemed a futile gesture at this point—but he was a man of his word. “Pineapple,” he muttered with reluctance.

Sliding Wade’s Desert Eagle into an empty holster, the box continued arguing with the others as if none had noticed Peter’s safeword. “Because I caught the spider, fat man.”

“You’re not fat and you’re not ugly. And pine—”

“Don’t matter none, ’m the one that’s got our Petey.” Yellow pressed a kiss between the younger man’s eyes. “Hmph, like you never came closer to unaliving him.”

Before Peter could shout his safeword, a voice came from his left. “Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.”

“Dr. Banner—” His brain scrambled for the right explanation, but he couldn’t find any response that didn’t sound panicked and defensive.

“It’s alright.” Bruce held out both hands, palms down. “I think I have the gist here: this is not the Wade I know.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Out of everything that could be fascinating about Peter’s current situation, of course Bruce would be focused on Deadpool instead of his kinky coworker. “Dr. Banner, meet Yellow, one of Wade’s boxes. Yellow, this is Dr. Banner, the man I work for.” Wrists bound, he realized exactly how much he spoke with his hands.

“I thought you worked for that guy with the glasses and sleezy beard.”

“We both work for Stark.”

“Stark?” Yellow scrunched his nose in deep thought. “The yelly guy with the pretty eyes. I remember him.” The box eyed up Bruce. “So what’s this guy doin’ down here on the Hulk’s playground? They sleepin’ together or somethin’?”

“No, well, I mean technically, yes, something, but…” Too flustered to explain Peter judiciously replied, “’S not like that.”

Rather than a tinge of green, a light blush passed across the good doctor’s features. “It’s _my_ playground; I _am_ the Hulk.”

“Yeah? And I _am_ Ironman. Say, where’s that dildo? This is his toybox, right?” Yellow glanced to the elevator as he latched onto Peter’s leash.

Oh, for all the humiliations in life, this had to be the most mortifying-est moment ever in all of human history. And most of the Pliocene Epoch. Surely no _Homo habalis_ had ever wanted to sink into the floor more than Peter did in this moment.

Without even acknowledging the younger man, Banner snorted. “I’m as much the Hulk as you are Deadpool.” This time a bit of green slipped his control. No, Peter decided, more likely he let his anger slip on purpose.

Either way the show had the intended effect: Yellow stopped. His mercenary gaze appraised every nuance of their companion in a single sweep. “I be damned, so you are.” His lips pulled from his teeth in a vicious sneer, muscles bunching under his skin. “You wanna study me,” he accused.

“No.” Bruce took a half step back, though Peter doubted the man realized that. “Well, I’m curious—of course I’m curious; that’s who I am—but it’s a personal curiosity.”

When Yellow started winding the rope around his palm while refusing to blink, Peter told Bruce, “Explain like he’s five.”

“Hulk and I share my body like you and Wade share yours.”

“Oh.” Tension drained from the big man’s features. “And Whitey. Don’t forget Whitey. He gets real mad when people ignore him.” The overgrown man-child snickered. “Whitey’s a judgmental prick who’s always pissy that he ain’t got his own body.”

“He’s not the only one,” Banner assured the box, and Peter got the distinct impression he wasn’t referring to his greener half.

For a moment Yellow only blinked, then he broke into a wide grin. “I bet Hulk hates it as much as I did.”

“Did?” That caught Banner’s attention more surely than any breakthrough on the unified theory of everything.

“Well, yeah. Did.” Yellow shrugged as he gestured wildly at the airy space around them. “It’s alright now that I get enough time outta the box. Can’t do nothin’ but yell when you’re stuck in there all day, every day, with no hope of even pissin’ your name in the snow.”

Peter winced, horrified at the thought, but Bruce stood spellbound.

“Not much of a life, always bein’ stuck in the box, and I could remember it, havin’ a body, but I couldn’t move anything anymore.”

Ice shot up Peter’s spine. Like White had Madcap, Yellow also lived a life before Deadpool. The younger man anticipated that intellectually, but his conscious mind had never confronted the implications that Yellow couldn’t remember who he’d been.

Bruce ran a hand through unwashed hair. “That… yeah, trapped like that, I’d be angry too.”

Proud of Yellow for gaining both Banner’s and Stark’s approval, Peter reached over to squeeze his hand, forgetting entirely about the rope cuffs. He still bungled through the effort; Yellow was doing well and deserved a little reassurance of that fact.

“You two really have no shame,” Bruce commented, his expression fond.

Peter shrugged. “Deadpool.”

“Yeah, I know, not exactly a font of restraint.”

“Well, ya know…” He raised his wrists.

“I know. You two’d best get outta here before I seal the doors; I never know what the big guy’s gonna do when I let him out.”

Peter meant to say more, but one tug and he followed Yellow while making an ungainly effort to wave goodbye to Bruce.

***

Tattered cloth fluttered to the carpet, leaving Peter bare; his only consolation, he’d never liked that tee anyway. “Tell me something before you start the advanced interrogation techniques?”

“Okay.” Yellow let his hands roam, his touch firm but not yet unkind.

“I thought the teleporter barely worked.”

“Hmph, Wadey don’t know how to set it, keeps tryin’a use Cable’s telepathic commands.” The box drew up to his full height. “I nudge the dials so the destination becomes clear in my mind, kinda like a VCR from the early 80s.” He leaned close enough to flick the tip of his tongue along the shell of Peter’s ear. “Tuned in a dozen spots on the playground. Half-a-thought and, bam, there I was.”

Peter blinked, his mind stuck at the midpoint of everything Yellow had said. “You’re that old?”

Yellow shrugged. “I know how to set one, and if all else fails, add more aluminum foil to the rabbit ears and try again. Flip to set the time to begin recording, and there ya go: the old-school Tivo.” As he spoke he pulled a massive spade-shaped plug from the dresser and slicked it with lube. “Now drop your drawers and bend over, boy; this is gonna sting.”

Peter’s heart raced at the sight. “There’s no way that will fit.” Still he obeyed.

“Oh, ye spider of little faith, it’ll fit; I’ll make it fit. Now relax that delicate pink rosebud and say ah.” Despite his sadistic grin, Yellow stroked the small of his boy’s back before pressing down to make him stick out his ass. “Hands on the bed. Gonna pry that tempting little pucker open wide.”

The rapid stretch of his sphincter brought a sizzling jolt of pain, making Peter shimmy away from the source. “Too much, Yellow! It hurts!”

“Now, Petey, if you clinch up like that, it’s gonna hurt. I mean, feel free to clinch all you want. I like it when it hurts.” Yellow swatted a handprint onto the curve of his boy’s rump. Under steady pressure the toy flared wider and the intrusion grew more intense. “There, that’s a good boy. Be still and take what your boxy gives you.”

Accepting the pain, Peter let the sting wash over him as it grew sharper. The instant he thought for certain something would tear, the toy narrowed abruptly, leaving him panting as his muscular ring tightened around the stem.

“Nice and full, boy?”

“Yes, Yellow.”

“Still feel too big?”

“Yes, Yellow.” In his bowels that hefty spade felt more like a full-sized bowling ball, and Peter shifted in hopes it would settle.

“Perfect,” the box cooed. “Pull up your pants and go sit at the table.”

“Yes, Yellow.” While Peter slipped gingerly into a chair, his ass still spasmed around the thick intrusion, his rectum walls stretched taut around the plug.

The box shifted the rope cuffs upward to force his elbows to meet behind his back. “Now rock on that fat plug until you come, boy. And remember: no touchie. I catch you touchie again, it’s no nut for you.” He shook a finger in warning.

“I don’t know if I—yes, Yellow.”

Peter diligently grinded on the plug, though his over-stretched ass issued a mild protest each time he stressed a tender spot in his walls. Still the motion felt pleasant enough as he fell into a steady rhythm.

“Faster!” the box demanded.

Desperate to obey, Peter picked up his pace, fighting to ignore the renewed sting. His thighs trembled with the effort to hold some of his weight off the plug, and his inner walls fluttered, fighting to accommodate the monstrosity shifting inside his overused body.

Yellow padded around behind Peter, the box’s motion too silent to track and a far lesser concern than the stretch that dominated his every thought. Despite pain intense enough to disrupt his focus with every miscalculation, each roll of his hips still brought him closer to obedience. His neglected erection strained, eager for any hint of the stimulation still needed to send him over the edge.

While Peter writhed and whimpered on the edge of release, a band of black dropped through his vision. He was jerked back, a wide belt around his throat.

“Oh, I didn’t say stop.” Yellow purred the words, obviously pleased with his boy’s performance. Then he grumbled, “So what? If his hyoid snaps, it’ll heal… Fine! But only because I don’t like those repulsers up my ass.”

The belt loosened enough for Peter to breathe again.

“And just what do you mean by that…? Well what if he does it to himself…?”

Though the argument shattered his concentration, Peter continued to rock down on the plug in earnest hope he could gain that tiny scrap of extra stimulation and tumble into the abyss of his building climax. All the while the box’s deadly stare bore into him, scrutinizing every nuance of his body, his face, his soul. Eyes squeezed tight, he panted, so damned close to giving the box the impossibility he demanded.

The unexpected brush of scarred skin against his shoulders made him jerk, then wince as a tender spot protested in a flurry of spasms.

Possessively clutching the younger man like spoils of war, Yellow let out a low, sinister chuckle. “You look like a boy who’d much rather be grinding my cock.”

“Yes, Yellow. Please.” Though he knew better than to stop rocking, he met that evil gaze with his best doe eyes. “Fuck me.” His voice strangled off, his desire so thick he could taste his own desperation. “No more of this fake, please, Yellow. Wanna feel you deep inside.”

“Hmm, well here’s your chance to prove how much you wanna grind on this hundred-percent Canadian-grown hunka man meat.”

Even with the box behind him, Peter could still see the box thrust his hips lewdly.

Yellow peeled the belt from his boy’s neck, then held a rope in his prisoner’s field of vision. The box tied off a loop, then pulled on each line, showing the knot held without tightening further, no matter how he strained. With deft hands he wove one lead into a mock noose. “Wadey insists I hold the loose end in case you get in trouble, and Whitey says it’s still not exactly safe or sane, just as close as they can make it. Those assholes don’t like the idea—even after I showed ’em how I could be trusted not to shoot our spidery fuck toy—but they say it’s your call. Always yours. So tell me: ready for your interrogation, private?”

“Yes, Yellow.” With a cocky grin Peter nudged the box as he glanced over his shoulder. “But I wasn’t a private. No takesie backsies.”

“Spoilsport. Fine, coxswain’s a chief petty officer first class.”

“Thank you, Yellow.” When the box motioned for him to stand, Peter gulped, the delicate structure of his Adam’s apple conspicuous as it bobbed under his skin.

Yellow bent him over the table, gave his boy a few swats for his trouble. “This is gonna sting … chief.” He grabbed the plug and gave an abrupt tug.

With a yelp that trailed off into a hiss, Peter sagged in relief as the overstuffed sensation faded. “Thank you, Yellow.”

After positioning the chair just so atop a blanket and under the noose, Yellow plopped into the seat, legs spread wide. “Just back that tender gape right on up, chief, and sink onto ol’ Rod Johnson.”

“Shouldn’t a prisoner of war at least try to escape?”

“No! Don’t make me punish the bad spoider!” A flash of teeth gleamed, sharp and gleeful. “Or do. I always enjoy making you scream.”

“Yes, Yellow.”

“That’s right, chief, just keep backing that cum dumpster right up to me. Fuck, I love dat ass—I’m not gonna fuck my boy’s tight hole; I’m gonna wreck it. You want that, boy? Want me to demolish that boy pussy for you?”

“Yes, Yellow.” Peter wanted anything that would give him some hint of relief. What he got was a stinging slap across his ass. Deft fingers wriggled between his thighs to roll his balls. That grip tightened until he threw his head back with an agonized groan. “Please, please, please, Need it. Need it so bad. Please, Yellow.”

“Please what, little spider? Just tell Yellow what you need, boy.”

“I need to come, Yellow. Please let me come.”

“I’m gonna ruin dat ass. You want that, chief? Want my fat cock shoved up your poor abused hole again and again? Want me to ruin dat ass so good you never walk again?”

Leaking, trembling, damned near blind from the need pulsing through his veins, Peter could only whimper.

Yellow pinned the smaller man across his lap, landed a dazzling constellation of harsh swats, and set him back on his feet. “Asked you a question, chief. You want me to ruin that ass?”

“Please, a ruin, anything! Just please, Yellow, please!” A vice-solid grip on both hips guided Peter back and down until he could feel the tip of his lover’s cock at his entrance, and it held him there, touching without penetrating. “Take me. However you want, just please, take me.” With that tease of flesh-on-flesh, his voice broke into a sob. His entire being pulsed in time to his racing heart. With an anguished groan, he tried to push onto the teasing thickness nestled between his cheeks. He fought the bonds at his elbows, pawed at his own sides and thighs, struggled to so much as brush a fingertip along his weeping erection. “Yellow, please! Anything! Just please fuck me!”

“Not what I asked, boy. Do you want me to ruin dat ass?”

Peter fought down the urge to scream in frustration. “Yes, Yellow, please ruin my ass!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The cock head breached him for only a second. A huff of breath heated the nape of his neck. “Whose ass, chief?”

“Your ass, sir!” He sniffled, fighting to compose himself while ignoring the dampness rolling down the raw tracks on his cheeks. “Yours! Always yours! Please ruin your ass! Please ruin me!”

“Good, boy, good. Let go. Empty your mind.” As Yellow murmured, he pulled his lover down, into his lap, until his ever-present erection was sheathed fully in his lover’s heat. “That’s it, chief. Surrender to the victor.”

As much as that made Peter want to fight, the mere thought of being denied relief left him bereft. “I give; you win.” He lifted up, only to have that cock surge up with him. “Please, Yellow.”

“Just one last thing, chief.” Yellow worked the snug noose over his boy’s head and let the knot drop down his back. “There. Perfect.” The box gave a short thrust. “Ride ’em, cowboy.”

“Yes, Yellow.”

Lifting with his legs, then dropping his weight back into the bigger man’s lap, Peter worked himself over with the hard length inside him. So close, so very damned close, he just needed a little more. Up—

His descent stopped with a harsh snag that cut off his air.

Bawling in earnest, he wanted to curse and shout, but he could hardly form a moan.

“I thought you wanted this nut, chief. You gotta work for it.” Yellow soothed a hand along his back as he hitched with sobs. “Get to work, boy; earn it.”

“Yes, Yellow,” Peter slurred.

Once he regained enough control, he resumed fucking himself, choking himself, forcing his mind and body to accept this as the price for his release. This close to his climax, he found himself grinding on his boyfriend’s cock until stars burst in his vision and his lungs screamed for air.

So close, he was too flustered to come.

But it felt so good to want his relief so desperately. As if he were inches from toppling from a towering height, he felt more on the edge of oblivion than the edge of climax. So he kept up the pace even as his legs burned. Even as thick dampness squelched from his body, signaling that his lover again emptied inside him.

“Good boy. You’ve earned this a dozen times over today.”

A glorious squeeze along his shaft started Peter coming, and he chased that grip as it fell away. He jerked. Guttural pleas died in his constricted throat. Still shooting hot ropes of come, he pushed up to gasp a quick breath. When he dropped down, his oversensitive, utterly tenderized asshole drew up in protest against the renewed intrusion, but he kept coming. Even when the spurts stopped, he continued to drizzle.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed in exhaustion, not caring if the noose moved with him or not. If this were his end, it was a glorious way to die.

Vaguely Peter registered Yellow carrying him to the bed. “Nap now, Petey, but it’s still early, and I’m not done with you yet. Still have the number five surprise.” The heft of the mercenary settled against him as the world faded fully to dreamscape.


	31. Number Five Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yellow delivers on the surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, patient readers, here's the next bit. Only two left. Strangely enough I've had no major problems finding new and interesting ideas to flesh them out, even 200k in.
> 
> I'd intended to have the penultimate day of bootcamp finished too, but it stalled ... with Wade as the sanest one in a room with Stark, while the bookclub eagerly awaits a special occasion.

“Be a good toy. Stay nice and loose, just like that.”

That deep, susurrus whisper drew Peter toward consciousness. A fingertip curled into his rim and guided him to lift his hips, keep lifting them.

“Pay the mean ol’ box no mind; ain’t gonna hurt cha for a long while yet.” Yellow’s words fell low and gravelly against Peter’s skin, drawing it into gooseflesh. As his body settled into his kneeling presentation, the box’s other hand gathered both his boy’s wrists, pressed his palms together, and slid his hands up between his shoulder blades. “Oh, that’s a good boy, such a pretty boy with yer ass open and waiting for me. Fuck I wanna destroy you. Take everything from you so you can never escape.”

The blood rushing through Peter’s ears drowned out the wheeze from his chest.

“Shh, boy, no reason to be scared of a lil’ ol’ yellow box.” That dark whisper paused while he brushed a few stray curls from his boy’s face. “Yer the star that guides us; we’d be lost without you.”

At the assault of a broad tongue licking ever-so-slowly along his taint, Peter drew back, his useless defense sluggish and halfhearted.

“’S alrgiht, boy. I swear to you this is the closest I’ll ever come to gnawing the flesh offa yer bones so I can keep a part of you with me forever and always.” An airy sigh blew across the damp skin. “Can’t believe you’ve stayed with us this long all by yourself. Usually gotta keep our friends in The Box until they stop tryin’ to run away.”

Despite how mortifying that sounded, Peter summoned the will to show gratitude, but between the cotton in his brain and the lead in his muscles, he barely managed a groan of acknowledgement.

“So good for us.” Aged up for now, Yellow exuded a subdued vibe that encouraged Peter to surrender to the box’s whims. “Always stay. Right at our side. So much better with you here.” The older man huffed another wistful sigh that had Peter longing to call off the game and snuggle close to comfort his racing mind. “Saw you drop to your knees, take our fucked-up cock in that perfect mouth, and I wanted to set your world aflame, burn your soul to the ground.” With a faint, breathy cackle, he wrapped a fist around the younger man’s limp cock. “Such a sweet little toy; such a pretty little boy.”

“’M not little,” Peter muttered, voice broken and reedy.

“Are too. Yer whatever I say you are.” The harsh words brooked no argument. Yellow teased his lover’s cock to attention and then wrapped those massive hands around the crests of the smaller man’s hips, while his own firm erection threatened to plunder that tender ass. “Yer perfect fuck puppet size. Like my very own fleshlight with a heartbeat.”

A needy groan escaped Peter’s lips, all the invitation the box needed. Again speared by his lover’s cock, he whimpered as his bruised flesh tensed for more wanton abuse.

_Just a couple more hours_, Peter could handle Yellow until midnight…

He hoped.

“That’s right, boy; keep squeezin’ that cock til it gives you yer treat.” Instead of pistoning his aching lover into the mattress, Yellow stayed buried deep. He pulled back in short, languid strokes before slamming home, his thighs slapping against Peter’s ass. “Wish Wadey hadn’t let you come yesterday. Nothing but ruins. Our Petey should never come; good boys don’t come. We should keep you unbearably horny, all day, every day, always desperate enough to beg. Even when yer fucked raw.” With a chuckle he asked, “Does it hurt yet, boy?”

“Yes, Yellow.” Each thrust felt like a jab to a mystery bruise, but Peter still wanted more.

When he tried to hide his hot blush of humiliation in his pillow, Yellow grabbed his hair and twisted, only relenting when the younger man’s neck popped. “All that red’s mine. If I can’t drink it, at least lemme see it.”

“Yes, Yellow.”

Everything throbbed: Peter’s body, his mind, his pummeled ass, his tight balls, his untouched cock dribbling against his thighs and stomach. His vision dimmed in time with his lover’s hips. The entire room pulsed to Yellow’s relentless rhythm. Suspended in desperation, time devolved into endless repetition of Peter’s long, slow inhale followed by the air rushing from his lungs in a pained hiss.

All the while, Yellow murmured filth from above him: “Such perfect fuckmeat.” “That’s right, let the angry box take out all his frustrations on that poor little fuckhole.” “Feel our cock all the way down in those guts, boy? Like the way it hurts? Just want Yellow to make it hurt more, doncha, boy?” “So broke you ain’t even tryin’ to stroke that poor, dejected dingle danglin’ down to drip between those wide-open legs.” “Love havin’ yer daddy’s little fucktoy split open on our cock, hurtin’ just for me.”

Half of what Yellow said should have been fighting words, but feeling small and weak and used, Peter lacked the will. Instead he indulged the box’s perversions: leaving his cock untouched, clenching against each intrusive thrust, answering, “Yes, Yellow,” to even the cruelest questions from the box. He allowed Yellow to open his stance until his cock barely brushed the mattress, a tease that pulled a frustrated moan from his lips every single time.

Yellow snatched a handful of hair and pulled Peter into a sharper sway. “Here it comes, boy, the last nut yer gonna feel tonight.” Hot liquid gushed against his tender walls, filling his sore body once again.

As the box pulled out, Peter ached all the way to his soul.

“Them tears of frustration, boy?”

“Yes, Yellow.”

“Relief too?”

“Yes, Yellow.”

“Feelin’ a little sorry for yerself since ya ain’t gonna getta come?”

“Yes, Yellow.”

“Good, then I think yer ready to start.”

_To start?_ Peter sputtered.

“Go lean over the table. Tonight’s correction will be enough to buckle your knees.” The box cackled as if that were some great joke. “Little soap and water ’n I’ll be right behind you.”

Annoyed by how powerless the box made him feel, Peter’s apprehension fought him every step of the way, but he obeyed. Chest against the cold table, his mind wandered down a dozen avenues of misery, his fate still uncertain. When the water in the bathroom shut off, his senses strained for any sign of the box’s approach.

“Mmm, such a good obedient toy.”

The only reason Peter didn’t jump out of his skin was the warm, gentle tone of the words huffed directly into his ear. “Thank you, Yellow.” With the box’s heartbeat so clear, he could only assume his lover used the teleporter to sneak up on him.

“It doesn’t take much to turn a flogger into a scourge, boy. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, Yellow.” The words made perfect sense.

The box showed him a flogger with knotted falls and spiked weights. “It means this is going to hurt.”

After swallowing hard, Peter nodded his comprehension.

Tone a harsh bark of disapproval, Yellow commanded, “Use your words, boy.”

“Yes, Yellow, I understand.” After a few beats of silence, Peter realized what the box wanted to hear. “Your boy disobeyed, put himself in danger, disrespected his owner with lies, and… and…” Crap, he hadn’t had this problem since the sentences, but jittery with nerves, his memory faltered. “Dishonest. He was dishonest.” _Lies. I already said lies._ Scowl so deep it hurt, he wet his numb lips as he tried to calm himself. “Will you correct your boy?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” That bray of manic laughter did nothing to settle the anxiety that kinked the smaller man’s inner workings from stem to stern.

The falls crushed across his ribs, weights thudding where they landed. What had been little more than a vigorous massage now left welts that throbbed with his pulse. A full dozen hits landed in quick succession until he was gulping like a fish out of water.

“Good boy. Now that you’re all warmed up, time to kiss your girl, Petey.”

Peter popped his eyes open only to find his Peter’s Punishment Paddle ™ a scant inch from his lips. He trembled as he kissed his personal implement of pain.

“So obedient now. Such a good, good boy for me.”

The praise bolstered his spirits until the first hard blow cracked across both his sit spots. He tried to keep his cries silent, but as the paddle landed repeatedly in the exact same position, he surrendered to the pained yelps and broken sobs. Mind stunned, he lost count of the hits he took.

“Over my knee, boy; I wanna feel those round, firm globes heat up under my hand.”

“Yes, Yellow.” A panting mess, he slid off the table and draped his body to display his already abused ass. The softer, more diffuse strikes made him groan. Trapped between his body and his lover’s thick legs, his dick expanded in a space too narrow to accommodate his girth.

Yellow chortled. “Let me help you with that.” His free hand cupped the younger man’s balls and lifted, so Peter could smooth his cock between them. Once he settled, the box massaged them, alternating from one to the next. When the box finally tapped his lover’s hip to signal his boy to stand, tears of frustration clung to his lashes. “That’s three. You have a choice for four. You can ask me to work over those thighs with the stingy bullwhip or a thuddy length of tubing, a stiff hose stuffed with steel ball bearings.”

“The thud—” Peter’s voice crackled and gave out on him. After a few swallows, he managed, “May your boy have the hose?”

“You don’t sound very sure.” Yellow petted across the fiery ache of his boy’s ass, his touch reverent.

Aroused beyond his tolerances by that gentle touch, Peter let his eyes roll back in their sockets. Summoning a scrap of power from the dregs of his soul, he replied, “Yes, sir, I’m sure.”

“Make me believe you, boy.”

Exhausted, aroused beyond any need he’d ever known, throat parched from panting, Peter croaked, “Water. May your boy have some water first.”

“Go on.”

Prick at full mast, it preceded him as he padded to the sink. He downed a full glass of tap water in a few gulps and refilled his cup. The second glass, he sipped, wary of his stomach turning if he drank too much. His rational mind protested the act of requesting more pain, but if he wanted to learn what number five was, the box clearly expected him to beg for his punishment to continue.

Thirst slaked he returned to the box, prepared for this torture to continue. “Yellow, may your boy have the heavy thud of the hose along his thighs. He likes the deep anguish it leaves behind.”

“That, I believe. Lie down on the table, boy.”

Peter crawled up and lay flat on his stomach.

“So perfectly tempting.” Yellow leaned down and inhaled along the younger man’s spine. “You smell divine.” He licked under the curve of one abused ass cheek. “I can taste the red through your skin.”

Without warning, a silent blow crushed across Peter’s thighs. More quick snaps stung his legs and sapped his strength. He couldn’t have fought off the box if he’d—the thought died, his mind registering nothing but the misery Yellow stoked in his muscles. By the time the box finished with the weighted hose, Peter felt weak as a newborn kitten. His tears flowed, leaving a slick puddle under his cheek.

A crack of the bullwhip made him jump, and he turned to Yellow.

“Just teasin’ boy.” The box laughed and tossed the whip aside. “Hold tight; that crazed agony will all be over in a second.”

Peter tried to straighten his arms, but his body clung to the tabletop, burrs refusing to release. The box could still become dangerous, and he was too far gone to protect himself. A brooding fear burrowed under his heart, taking root as an anguish all its own.

“Chinchilla.”

Blinking in confusion, Peter watched the box rub a cloud-soft fur up one arm and then the other. “So when does this become torture?”

“It don’t.” Yellow flashed the grin of a well-fed predator. “A moment’s rest is my good boy’s Number One Surprise.”

Number One? Peter would never survive four more rounds of pure abuse. He burst into frustrated sobs.

“Go ahead and bawl for me, boy.” Still Yellow stroked the fur along the smaller man’s back until his distress quieted. “Such a good little fuck puppet. Love the way you break for me.” He spent minutes soothing the bruises on his lover’s ass and thighs, still whispering praise into his boy’s trembling flesh.

Once he’d brushed every inch with the fur, he took a seat and guided Peter to straddle his lap. With the smaller man hugged tight to his chest, he cooed, “That’s it; keep crying. I hope those luscious tears never stop.”

The fucked-up words in this fucked-up situation made Peter sob harder. He’d definitely pushed this depravity past the point of no return. He’d never be the same man again, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to be this broken creature clinging to his abuser, eager and terrified for the pain to start anew.

“Shush enough so you can hear me.” Yellow paused while the younger man fought to silence his anguish. “That’s good, such a good boy. Now I want you to listen real close; can you do that for me, boy? Can you listen?”

“Y-y-yes, Y-y-yellow.” Another loud sob wracked Peter’s overwrought body.

“Nope, not ready for the Number Two Surprise.” He lightly bounced his thighs, jostling his boy like a fussy infant. “You like that, Petey? Being babied? Wanna let me pamper you just a little while longer?”

Feeling tiny Peter clutched his lover, chests pressed tightly together. “Yes, Yellow. A little while longer. Sounds nice. Sounds good.” In the box’s embrace his plaintive wails quieted to hiccups, then sniffles.

“Poor exhausted little fuck puppet, been used so hard it made you stupid.”

“No, Yellow, I…?” The words refused to go. Peter shattered.

“That went over your line, boy?”

Afraid to breathe, lest he resume squalling, he nodded into the bigger man’s chest.

“’S alright, boy; you’ll have all those smarts back tomorrow. That big brain’s not gone, just takin’ a vacation.” Yellow nudged his lover to stand. “Let’s get you trussed up for your Number Two Surprise.”

Peter again nodded, the motion weaker than a moment before. He didn’t know what came next, and he didn’t want to face it in binds when he lacked the will to break them.

“Words, boy, use them. You ready for the Number Two Surprise?”

“Yes, Yellow.” That rote response felt like a betrayal to his core self, but he’d pushed this far, and he planned to damned-well see this ordeal through to the end. Besides, Wade said he’d enjoy this. Seemed pretty certain. Even if he couldn’t fully trust Yellow’s judgment, he trusted Wade’s. White’s too. And surely they both stuck close by, watching his ordeal for any sign of danger like a pair of helicopter parents. If they weren’t stopping Yellow, then he had nothing to fear. “Please truss up your boy for the second surprise,” he added with more confidence.

Yellow spread a hand over his boy’s face and pooched out his cheeks so he made a kissy face. “And here I thought you weren’t having any fun.”

“You’re acting seriously mean,” Peter admitted.

“Don’t wanna play army men anymore, Petey?” With a pout, the box folded his arms to sulk.

The younger man shook his head. “Just glad you remember you’re playing.”

“Don’t think I’m the one who forgot.” Yellow booped his nose and leaned close to whisper against his ear, “Does little Petey need a reminder of how Big Bad Yellow feels about him?”

Cheeks flaming Peter wanted to correct the box, but he felt so tiny that his usual response sat heavy on his tongue like a lie. Instead he nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Yellow clasped the younger man’s head between his palms. “I love you.” His gruff tone lent a solemn note to the declaration, as he unleashed a flurry of kisses over his lover’s face and neck. “I adore you.” He moved down to pepper his boy’s chest and stomach. Not playful, his affection had a fateful edge. “I worship you.” On his knees, he paused to lick and suck Peter’s cock to full hardness. “I’d change reality for a single smile from you.” Then he trailed more kisses down his boy’s legs. “I’ll rip the impossible into reality at yer whim.” Two more kisses landed atop Peter’s feet, where Yellow knelt with his head bowed like some ancient demonic protector eager to serve his master. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” Clutching his collar Peter knelt with his boyfriend. “Because I love you too.” He raised the bigger man’s head for a proper peck on the lips. “Seriously, how in the hell can you be the easy one?”

“I never forget you’re head bitch in charge,” Yellow answered, eyes rounded in earnest. “The one thing I always remember.”

Early in bootcamp Peter had warned White to never forget that. He’d learned so much about himself and his lovers since then, the argument felt like a lifetime ago. Still he couldn’t be certain that were true instead of a single flash of clarity among the memories in Yellow’s current repertoire.

Peter stroked an imaginary beard, imitating the old Zen master on Kung Fu. He replied sagely, “Confucius say you choose wisely, Grasshopper.” He snorted, then broke into a full belly laugh.

With all the younger man’s anxiety melted away, an effervescent joy filled the void, leaving him loose limbed and content inside his own skin. Maybe he still looked a wreck, but he felt a thousand times better now. “Ready to surprise me again?”

“For you, anything and always.”

***

Peter expected to be suspended; instead the box bound his wrists and placed his hands inside the fake noose that still dangled from the ceiling. He grasped the rope.

Yellow hummed his approval. “Good boy, just like that. Now don’t let go.”

At the crack of both bullwhips, Peter jerked his full attention to the box.

Smile deadly as ever, Yellow flicked both wrists.

The crackers slapped the hardened buds of Peter’s nipples, landing with a jolt that shot straight to his groin. His surprised yowl trailed off in a needy moan, the sound lurid and lewd. With each pop a new shallow ache bloomed on his torso, his upper arms, the front of his thighs. Symmetrical crosses formed across the thin skin as each mark received a second crack in the opposite direction.

Though he tried to float above the manic snaps of leather across his tender flesh, he lively pain held him firmly in reality, ensuring he suffered through each blow. When the whips entwined around his ankles, he wheezed out, “Please…”

“Please what, boy?” the box demanded.

“Please, no more. Don’t … don’t whip me anymore. Please.”

“Whatever you desire, boy.” Yellow quipped, “Hate to leave you hangin’, little fuck puppet, but I’ll be right back with your surprise.” He stepped away, the air charged with menace in his wake.

A shiver raced down Peter’s spine as he imagined the box spewing that pun at someone who wasn’t simply holding a fake noose. Any sane person would be terrified. No one would stand here of his own volition, awaiting more destruction at the box’s hands. Without any motivation to stay, not even sexual release, he should run.

But his feet didn’t move. His hands held steady.

His stubborn desire to test his limits and his insatiable curiosity kept him poised exactly as Yellow had left him. He waited with bated breath for the next wave of the assault on his senses. Head down, eyes closed, he knew the box wouldn’t disappoint, but he felt powerless to stop the game.

Safeword, yes, he possessed a safeword. If only he could remember it. Or his own name. He’d not been born a little fuck puppet, but his mind struggled to piece together his life before the pain Yellow etched into his body.

Something hard jammed toward his kidney, something with teeth of frost and flame. Peter howled from the shock. Panting and yelping, he writhed away from the cold that seared one mark and then the next. The Number Two Surprise, a dagger of ice, left wet trails on his quaking body.

“Far from the perfect murder weapon,” Yellow commented as he stabbed over the other kidney, not breaking skin, “won’t hold an edge. But you will.”

A warm hand jacked Peter’s eager cock, only to stop when he drew close to his release. Between that tease and the shock of ice against his hot, red, swollen injuries, he screamed and shook, frustrated beyond human tolerance.

Yet he still craved more.

Peter and his psyche were having a serious conversation about this dichotomy when this ordeal was over. For now he could do nothing but react to the dozens of crossed messages radiating from his abused body.

“Lookit all those goosebumps. You want rid of the ice, little fuck toy?”

“Yes, Yellow.” Peter panted with relief even before the box lifted the dagger from his skin.

“Time for the Number Three Surprise.”

A chill slime slapped against his back, handfuls of it spreading to cover him entirely. Where the ice had been a shock, the goo sucked the heat from his core, leaving him chilled to the bone and shaking violently.

A fruity floral filled his nostrils. “Why the everloving fuck does that shit smell so damned amazing?” Peter gritted out between chattering teeth.

“You like it? I mixed the gel myself.”

Shaking uncontrollably, he still managed to laugh. “Yes, Yellow, it smells great.”

“Lemme make sure I got all of you.” Yellow smoothed cool hands across his boy’s damp skin. “Ready for the Number Four Surprise?”

“More cold?”

“Pfft, as if. How would that be a surprise?”

“Then I guess I’m ready.” A branching river of violet sparks flowed from Peter’s shoulder to spread a mild shock along his chest and back. “Conducting gel?” The sparks shifted across his body, the current rising.

“You did say I live to shock you.” Yellow smirked down at him, clearly pleased with himself.

“I did.”

The conversation died abruptly as Peter’s muscles jerked. He latched onto the noose as his legs jerked in an erratic dance. Full force zaps sent quakes through his chest, up his arms. Much more and he’d lose control entirely and collapse to the floor.

“No one’s ever taken that much without dropping like a fly.”

“Electro,” Peter managed to gasp.

Yellow cranked up the juice again.

By stubborn will alone Peter kept hold of the noose as he swung, his footing long lost. Some muscles locked solid, others jerked. One particularly violent quake of his left arm ripped the noose apart, leaving him dangling by one arm.

Yellow cooed in awe, “Yer everything I ever dreamed.” He cut the electricity. “I’d planned for you to drop to the floor, but I’m outta juice.”

Feet touching the floor but legs trembling under half his weight, Peter rested his head against his straining arm, which still clung to the tattered rope overhead for dear life.

Grabbing the younger man’s hair and jaw, Yellow worked his mouth as he mimicked the smaller man “Thank you, Yellow, for preparing me so well for the Number Five Surprise.” He laughed. “Such a good little fuck puppet.” That merriment dropped to a sinister cackle. “But maybe yer not grateful enough to deserve you last surprise just yet.” While the younger man stammered a vague approximation of an apology, the box positioned his boy ass-up over his lap. “Convince me.” An open-handed blow landed on his bruised ass.

“Thank you, Yellow, may I have another?” Peter parroted, his brain too taxed to supply the name of the movie.

More spanks rained down, steady and harsh, and he thanked the box for each. His shimmering pain numbed to a dull ache. Disoriented, lost in his beloved’s cruel games, he let himself sob, not trying to hold his tears back to save his dignity. _Lost that long before now._

“Hmm… Still not convinced you’re embracing the suck, Petey. Without it, yer Number Five Surprise’d be nothin’ but torture, both terrifying and painful. Not that I’d mind some horrified screams from those blood-red lips.”

“Thank you for looking out for me, Yell—OH!—I’m a lucky fuck doll—”

“Lucky little fuck puppet. Say it right.” Yellow swatted him again, harder this time.

Head down, eyes closed, Peter jerked with the impact. “Yes, Yellow; sorry, Yellow!” Desperate to bring his punishment to an end, he yelped, “I’m a lucky little fuck puppet—AH!—to have a box that looks out for me so good!”

While he continued rambling, Yellow stood him up. Still slapping fire across his boy’s ass every few seconds, he freed the younger man’s arms and peeled the bandages from his knees.

He tied a fine twine at Peter’s wrist and looped it, crisscrossing around his arm in an intricate weave before moving onto the other wrist. “Oh, don’t stop talking. I wanna hear your voice, so keep goin’.”

Satisfied once Peter resumed yelping nonsense, he wrapped the other arm, then wove his way up each leg. More twine curved its way down from Peter’s armpits. It passed on either side of his balls before being joined into the pattern on his legs.

After fiddling with the decorative knots a bit more, Yellow stepped up and pressed tightly against his lover’s backside. “I lied.” He again sheathed his cock in the smaller man’s body, but this time he reached around to grasp Peter’s own weeping member.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Yellow! Please may I come? Oof, your boy! Please may your boy come? He’s been such a good boy today, took so much abu-u—” Searing purple-blue flames raced along the lines up his arms and legs, and Peter screamed more out of surprise than pain.

Though the twine burned hot, the fire moved fast. It only hurt when it passed over broken skin, which the box had mercifully avoided, other than a prominent line across his sit spots. With the realization that he was safe, Peter sagged against Yellow.

The scorch kinda felt good. In fact everything felt good. Even the rock-hard intrusion violating his bruised ass to pound into his throbbing prostate. Even the dry hand tugging his neglected cock.

Ooh, especially the tug on his cock.

He rocked back until his marked ass slammed against his lover’s hard thighs, then shoved forward into the fist that squeezed along his raging erection. Lost in the bliss, he barely gasped as the scorch passed through the creases where his legs met his crotch, then sizzled across both tenderized sit spots.

A few more strokes and the first shot of come jetted from his body to splash onto the rug at their feet.

“Good boys stay needy.” Ruining Peter’s release, Yellow placed both hands on his lover’s ribs. The box lifted him off the bigger man’s cock, then slammed him down, sheathed to the hilt. “Such a good little fleshlight. So good for me.”

Peter whimpered and trembled while Yellow jerked himself off with the smaller man’s oversensitized body.

“That’s it, boy; sob for me.”

He tried to reply, but his throat stayed closed. Everything hurt.

Particularly his overused asshole, still stretched around his owner’s cock, still being pumped along the scar-textured shaft.

Until Yellow grunted. His fingers sank around the smaller man’s hip bones. Buried as deep as possible inside his boy’s scorched ass, he pumped yet another load into his lover’s quivering body.

“Keep milkin’ it, boy. ’At’s right, grip it hard ’n tight. Mmm, so many tears.” Yellow’s praise cut off with an undignified squawk as he again jerked Peter’s body along his cock. “Fuck, comin’ again. Feel that, little puppet? All that hot come filling up my snug little fuck hole?”

Peter lolled in his lover’s arms, hardly able to twitch or grunt, much less answer the questions.

The box didn’t seem to mind. “Such a good boy for me.” His thrusts squelched inside Peter until he pulled out with a groan. “Oh, don’t wanna lose all that precious spunk!” He shoved his lover’s plug into place.

_No, that’s the bigger spade. So full, how can anyone be so full?_

Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he paid them no mind. All he wanted was the bed, only a few steps behind him. Endure just a few more minutes alone with Yellow, and in two days, bootcamp would be over. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted bootcamp to end half this badly.

A blinding slap on his ass brought his mind to the surface. He blinked anew at a world that hadn’t changed, though he doubted he’d ever be the same again.

“As per my last command: go sit at the table, boy. I’ll be there as soon as I can get cleaned up.”

“Oh-um-eh… Yeah, yesh, yel… Ugh.” With one last, longing look at the bed, he limped to the chair where he’d started tonight’s adventure. He intended to sit properly, but he slumped instead. Despite the spasm of protest, all his weight rested on the plug, too soul-deep exhausted to do better.

“So…”

Unsure if he’d fallen asleep or not, Peter cracked open his eyelids as the box slid into the chair across from him.

“Is my prisoner ready to talk yet?”

“So tired, Yellow.”

“Then tell me Spidey’s deepest, darkest secret.”

“Wha…?”

“Tell me one thing Spidey doesn’t want anyone to know, and I’ll send you off to dreamland.”

So many choices but he recognized the one Yellow could appreciate most. “Spidey expected to die alone.”

Yellow tilted his head and motioned for Peter to continue.

“I’m poison to anyone who gets close. Aunt May’s thyroid cancer, Mary Jane’s miscarriage, they paid the price for loving me, absorbed more radiation than their bodies could handle. I’m lucky they both survived me.”

“Spidey’s cancer on feet?”

Peter smiled fondly; Wade had reacted much the same. “Yes, Yellow.”

“Thank you for sharing with me, trusting me. C’mon, boy; let’s get you rested up for tomorrow. Every day is the hardest day of bootcamp.”


	32. Day 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Book Club. Unless Peter pineapples out, of course.

Smothered under a familiar hefty weight, Peter regained consciousness slowly, his mind resentful of waking. His body, well, it resented everything. He’d enjoyed his time with Yellow, but he looked forward to a quiet morning with Wade before work.

He blinked at the clock. _It can’t be noon._ “Dammit, I’m super late. Why didn’t you wake me?” He turned his attention to the man atop him … and found Yellow’s manic grin.

“But you’re such a cute little Petey when you’re sleeping.”

“What did you do?” Peter demanded, tendrils of panic curling in his chest.

“Nothing. Just watched. Didn’t even roofie ya.”

Stern frown in place, Peter seized control of himself; he could indulge his fears later. “Yellow, where are Wade and White?”

“Oh, I had to lock them away so they’d leave us alone.”

Okay, Peter could work with that. “Time to let them out.”

“But I had so much fun with just you. I even asked the ceiling lady to let me talk to the guy with the pretty eyes so I could get you a day off to recuperate so I didn’t get a repulsor up the ass.” Yellow beamed with pride.

Under different circumstances Peter would have found that hilarious, but right now, he needed to coax the box into freeing the other personalities so he could fall apart. “You do know I’m not going anywhere after bootcamp, right? We can still play every week if you want, but I need you to let Wade and White out.”

“Don’t wanna,” Yellow whinged.

Urged by his emotions to shout and flail, Peter remembered to do the exact opposite. Once he managed to center and calm himself, he cooed, “Sweet yellow box, nine-tenths of being an adult is doing the things we don’t wanna do.”

“No.” Solemn, the box shook his head. “They’re always spoiling my fun. Won’t even let me play with you without a list of rules this long.” He held his hands up, as far apart as possible. “And I won’t hurt our Petey, but they never believe me, and I’m tired of being punished for something I didn’t do.”

That actually made far more sense than Peter expected. “Okay, I’ll talk to them, help you make them see that you’ve been really good to me. That sound fair?”

“Yeah.” Yellow refused to meet his gaze.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yeah.”

Peter summoned as much patience as possible before asking, “So what’s not fair?”

“They’ll just tell you what you want to hear and run me down where you can’t hear.” A careful driver could have parked a bus on the box’s pouting lip. “And I don’t wanna hear it no more.”

“Don’t they also help you a lot?” It was a long shot but the only play Peter saw.

“Yeah.” Yellow’s lip curled into a snarl.

“You don’t like it when they help you?”

“They’re helping me to death! ‘Do this. Don’t do that. And be careful with our Petey. Don’t hurt our Petey. Petey’s like a delicate flower. Don’t break our Petey.’ I’m always careful with our Petey. They’re the ones who put you in danger, but no one gives them any shit.”

Still operating in what Wade called Bizarro world, Peter patted beside him on the mattress. “Come here, sweet yellow box; come lie down beside me and get a cuddle.”

Yellow practically dove into the open space on the bed. “I figured you’d be mad when you found out.” He curled around the smaller man, with one knee wriggled under Peter’s legs.

“Oh, I’m plenty mad.” Feeling more grounded by speaking the truth, Peter hugged the big lunk close and ran a comforting hand down his back.

“Nun-uh, you haven’t thrown stuff or hit me or yelled at me or sent me away or left me or broke any of my fingers; you can’t be mad.”

“Yellow, sweet yellow box, that’s not anger; that’s loss of control.” Peter sighed. His pride stung as he admitted, “I kinda wanna do some of that, but I don’t wanna hurt you, so I’m holding my temper.”

Eyes narrowed in suspicion Yellow studied his bedmate. “You don’t look like you wanna throw stuff.”

Focused on his anger, Peter let his temper simmer hot. He should have been at work, not coddling a savant of murder and mayhem. “What about now?”

“Yeah, okay, you can iron out the brow; I believe you.” The box whimpered. “Don’t be mad at me, Petey; I just wanted ’em to leave me alone so I could focus on you. And now you’re mad, and I’ve ruined everything just like they said I would. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Soft words weren’t breaking through the box’s self-loathing. Peter snatched the older man’s fist before his boyfriend could hit himself in the temple again. Fed up, he straddled his beloved and grabbed the other hand too. When Yellow tried to roll away, he entwined their legs together.

“Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good,” the box yelped.

With a merciless killer hyperventilating in terror under him, Peter cooed, “Not gonna hurt ya; you’re safe. Safe here with me. Won’t let anyone hurt you, okay? You’re always my sweet box. You’re fine. We’re fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

A few weeks shy of an eternity later, the box stilled.

Once the bigger man’s ragged breaths turned smooth and slowed, Peter asked, “You okay?”

Yellow sniffled. “Yeah … but I don’t deserve to be. I ruin everything.”

“Hey, I can’t fix the hurt and I can’t be responsible for your emotions, but I can promise you that everyone deserves to be okay.”

“But I made our Petey mad, and now you’re going to leave us, and I can’t even die to get away from the suck you’re leavin’ behind.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled into the smaller man’s caress. “I’m scared of what they’re gonna do when they break lose and you’re gone.”

“’M not going anywhere, but I do want you to embrace the suck and let them out.”

“They’ll be mean to me.” Yellow tried to curl in on himself.

Peter kept him pinned. “They will. And it’s gonna suck. But it won’t hurt any less later; might even be worse, right?”

“Yeah.” Yellow turned away and shut his eyes.

“Can they feel how scared you are?”

His voice shrank even smaller. “Prob’ly?”

“My sweet yellow box, they are as calm as they’re ever going to be about this. If you let them out now, they’ll be a little mad and might hurt your feelings, but if they have to break free, they’ll be furious and out for revenge, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So are you ready to embrace the suck?” Peter asked with a lilt of hope.

“No.” Yellow shifted, turned his head to meet his boy’s gaze again. “But I will.” His body went eerily still for a few long minutes.

Then White smirked up, a little too pleased for the situation at hand. “So … Spider-man spent some time on the psychologist’s couch.”

Peter counted out on his fingers: “Orphaned, childless, divorced, all well before thirty, carcinogenic, adrenaline-junky, menace, driven to save the world by the loved ones I kill — failed to save? Yeah, I needed better coping skills.”

The box gave an exaggerated scoff. “Dr. Bong, last headshrink the Wonder Twins saw, encouraged Wade to set his inner sociopath loose, and you’ve seen how well that worked.”

That startled Peter from his worries. “Wait … so Yellow’s not … like you?”

“Thought you knew that.” White pulled Peter down, so his head rested on the ex-merc’s shoulder.

“Well, I thought so too until Yellow told Dr. Banner that he remembered having a body before he became a box.”

The calmer box snickered. “Yeah, when Wade was five.”

***

An hour later, still no word from Wade and Yellow, Peter was distracting himself by slaying White at Mario Cart when FRIDAY announced, “Sir would like to speak with you; he’s at your door.”

“Crap, just a second,” Peter called to the ceiling. He scrambled into his clothes, tossed the bigger man a t-shirt, then ensured that nothing was too amiss in the room. He yanked down Yellow’s fake noose and kicked any questionable materials under the couch. “Okay, let him in.”

Stark walked in with a hand over his eyes. “Tell me you’re decent?”

“As decent as we get.”

“Good, after that half-coherent message this morning, I wanted to make sure you’re all right, actually lay eyes on my intern with horrible taste in men. Umph, not disappointed, you look like you had way too much fun last night. Either that or you got dragged a few miles by a freight train.” He glanced to the ex-merc. “And you… Yellow?”

“Most certainly not.” White drew to his full height to glare at Tony. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I have five fingers, the third one’s for you.”

Peter hissed, “Ixnay ittingshay on the ossbay.”

The box turned that scathing scowl on him. “Next time I want Wade dead, I’ll climb this douche canoe’s ego and jump for Yellow’s IQ.”

“You three literally have the same face. Give the man a chan—”

Stark stepped forward, hand out. “Tony Stark. I take it you’re the white box, then?”

“One white box, at your service.” White bowed with a great flourish, doffing an imaginary hat in the process, before he kissed the back of Tony’s hand. “How may I fuck you up?”

“More like fuck me over. You’re exactly the two-faced—or should I say three-faced?—bastard I’ve been wanting to have a word with.”

“I could eat alphabet soup and shit out a more intelligent statement than that.”

“Hah, if the only thing you fear is success, it’s no wonder you whistle when you walk into an ambush.”

Noses almost touching, White growled, “Didn’t your parents ask you to run away from home?”

To his credit Stark never flinched. Unfortunately he probably should have. “No wonder the only place you’re ever invited is outside.”

“You wanna dance, pretty boy? Cause I’m definitely up for cutting a rug. Or maybe that mug.” White flipped open a straight razor, which Peter never saw him grab.

Inhibitions blown to shit by the madman’s gaze, Stark headbutted White in the nose. “I’m busy, you’re ugly, have a day.” He wavered as he turned to the door.

“Never forget who brings out the best in you!” White called at his back. Smirking widely, the box looked entertained more than offended, a fact his boyfriend tucked away for future reference.

Glad the box was letting Stark leave without making this worse, Peter let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Wait, only a dumbass turns his back on a killer, and I’m no dumbass. Ooh, or maybe I am.” Stark succumbed to a fit of giggles. Back against the wall he slid to the floor. “The dumbass in me salutes the dumbass in you.”

“Frankly, the smartass in me is appalled by the dumbass in you.”

Peter had had enough. “Dammit, White, stop trading barbs with my boss.”

“He started it!”

Peter stooped down to loop one of Stark’s arms around his shoulders. “I don’t care who started what, fix this.”

“It’ll wear off in a few minutes.” White waved dismissively, as if he weren’t palming the closed straight razor in that hand.

“I don’t mean the crazies—that, I get.” Peter hefted Stark to his feet. “Why’s Tony hunting your head?”

Apropos of nothing, Stark quipped in a slur, “Yeah, keep rolling your eyes; you might find a brain back there somewhere,” then broke into a fresh stream of laughter.

The box raised both hands, razor still closed. “Alright, alright, you can stop with the glare of impending doom.” He had the decency to pull out a chair for their guest. “I was trying to get the Avengers down on Wade’s ass, and I might have, sorta … dslntd fthsdg fshtk.”

Once Peter settled Stark comfortably enough, he tapped a single fingernail against the tabletop in a metronome of annoyance.

White sat and watched the taps for a long while, but eventually he cracked. “I desalinated a five-thousand–gallon fish tank. The day before his aquarium opened. …What? He hired Wade as security, so what did he expect?”

“Live fish, White, he expected live fish.”

Eyes locked on Peter’s fists at his side, White gave a dainty wave with two fingers. “Meathead, you need to get your ass up here before your boy kicks it.” With that, White was gone, leaving vacant eyes blinking at Peter.

A moment later Wade crinkled his brow, attention shifting from their giggling guest to his boyfriend’s stormy glare, to the razor in his hand. “Um, Precious Princeling Petey-my-meaty, why do we have a stoned Stark at our table?”

“Because White. Need I say more?” Perfect sleight of hand, even with Wade conscious, the razor had vanished; Peter shook his head in disbelief, accepting that reality with reluctance.

After a half hour of recovery, Tony again walked toward the door but turned back. “Wade, that thing you mentioned? We’re there.” With that cryptic comment, he left Peter alone with his guy.

***

Peter climbed into the bed and curled against his boyfriend, glad for a leisurely correction, particularly since it was a double. _Four more._ His heart stuttered upon realizing how close he was to the end of bootcamp. With the constant haze of hormones flooding his system, his conscious mind had entirely forgotten the end of bootcamp meant more than a typical weekday giving way to the next. He’d presumed he’d retake the reins, but the role that had been second nature to him now felt foreign in his thoughts.

Fingertips brushed across his cheek as Wade asked, “What’s got you all wee-weed up?”

“I’ve never felt more alive,” the younger man murmured glumly.

“…Um, okay? …So what’s with the water works?”

After humoring Wade’s dacryphilia for so long, Peter hadn’t realized his emotions were leaking. “I did get dragged by a train once, nothing compared to unsupervised play time with Yellow. My butt hurts all the way to the small of my back. And my eyes hurt. And my everything hurts. And my brains are still slow and dull. And, well, I just, I…” That build up didn’t lead to the admission that he couldn’t visualize himself after bootcamp, and he trailed off in a mumble as a tide of misery tried to pull him under.

Wade watched him expectantly before giving in to prompt, “And?”

Peter tried approaching the idea from a different angle. “Bootcamp is ending, so I go back to being the guy Deadpool will almost listen to, almost deign to obey.” He sighed from the bottom of his soul. “I can’t just turn bootcamp off like a switch; I’m not that guy anymore, ya know?”

A champion at spewing wise-sounding nonsense, Wade replied lightly, “Course not, past’s dead and gone.” Whether bullshit or insight, he hit the nail on the head.

“But I liked him, liked being him, miss being him.”

Loose limbed Wade reclined against the headboard. He scratched his balls, asking, “So you don’t like now-you, and you wanna go back to then-you?”

“No, but … feels like someone should mourn him.” Surfing his emotional whiplash, Peter smirked up at his lazing lover. “He was a great guy after all.”

“There’s the arrogant little shit I know and love.” Wade broke into a wide, sappy grin. He ran a hand along his lover’s flank. “Even when he’s not himself, he’s still a great guy … and a great lay.” Despite his grunt of maximum effort, he easily lifted the smaller man into his lap. “So eager.” Noting how his boy’s erection strained in its cage, he squeezed along the confined shaft. “So responsive.”

With a heave of breath, Peter trembled at the familiar touch while his body fought to overcome the silicone restraint. “I’d have thought I’d be fucked out by now, but damn if I don’t crave more of your insanity.”

“Good. I was worried Yellow broke you.” His boyfriend paused the teasing excuse for a hand job long enough to find the lube.

“What’d you do to him anyway?”

“I beat him within an inch of his boxy life, of course.”

Mouth agape, Peter recoiled.

“Kidding, kidding. Sorry, bad joke. Bad Deadpool.” Wade slapped the back of his hand but still laughed. “I sat and listened while he bitched and moaned. Some of it—okay, most of it—was even legit.” He tilted the younger man’s face in the light, studying every plane. “Sucks to be punished for things you haven’t done yet, but … just not much else I can do when he’s so impulsive. Damn, if you didn’t have a healing factor, you’d be in rough shape.”

Peter was in rough shape, but he shrugged it off. “What happened yesterday?”

“Hah! He was pissed off because we insisted he skip straight to his Number Five Surprise, not try to relive the hit.”

Dryly amused Peter snorted. “He rubbed down a hit with a chinchilla pelt? Bet that did surprise his victim.” He cringed. That word flooded his emotions with his initial concerns about Deadpool, ugly black depths that lapped away at the edges of his self-image, eroding the crisp corners of his morality to a fuzzy gray band around his ideals.

“Bad man got beat down, then Yellow surprised him alright: waterboarded, nicked his renal artery, sent him into shock with ice, electrocuted him, and then set him on fire. All before I could ask the first question.”

“Sounds pretty accurate.” When Wade’s rough fingers slid across his cage, pleasure shot up Peter’s spine before settling into a needy ache low in his body and a dizzying pain in his nuts. Head back, moaning, he pleaded, “Do it again, please, Daddy.” That sounded wrong in his head, too much like him instead of the ingenue he played for Wade’s amusement. “I still gotta know how Yellow got the drop on both of you.”

“Not sure. I went to subdue Yellow and left White to drive the bus. Go to tackle the Amazing Flying Stupid—”

Body straining into his lover’s touch, Peter still managed to mumble, “Be nice.”

“—next thing I know I’m stuck, frozen, can’t do anything but watch, like I was locked in, not even able to yell.” Wade squeezed the younger man’s trapped cock. “Aw, baby boy, I thought I was being nice, but if you don’t want me to jack your precious pecker while we chat—”

“Wade!” Quakes of frustration roiled through Peter’s cramping abdomen, the sharp ache in his balls sucking down every scrap of pleasure that had been masking the pain in his body. “Please don’t stop now.”

“Who’s ya daddy?”

“You are,” he answered without hesitation, desperate to end this specific agony.

“Who’s ya daddy?”

He whimpered before trying, “You are, Daddy?”

“No, baby boy, make me believe it. Who’s your daddy?”

“Daddy, please! You’re my daddy — you’ve always been my daddy; you’ll always be my daddy — just please don’t leave me aching like this right now!” A humiliating whine tainted his voice, and white-hot embarrassment sizzled across his overheated skin.

Even after a month of every depravity Wade, White, and Yellow could think up, the giant asshole could still make him blush.

Shame blocked Peter’s chest, a solid, immobile lump that he could hardly swallow around. He shoved back from his lover, desperate for air, but the tell-tale crack of snapping ribs choked off his breath.

Terror clawed up his spine. That had been so easy, just a moment of distraction and he’d used too much strength.

After toppling from the bed, he righted himself in a daze. With both hands and feet, he scurried as far as he could get from his injured lover.

“Can you hear me?” his boyfriend asked, tone impossible to decipher over the blood whooshing through his ears.

Peter nodded, though the rest of his body ran on instinct, still propelling him away, even with his back cracking the plaster wall.

“You’re dropping. ’M gonna stand up and walk to the kitchen, get you some calories. Alright?”

Soothed by the bigger man’s calm reaction, he gave another nod. Once his lover left the room, he managed to cease his retreat. His fear of harming the people he loved quieted again to a dread in the back of his mind instead of an inevitability that enflamed his senses, livid with shame for craving love and belonging, despite the deadly cost to the victims of his affection. His need for human contact was no excuse to endanger anyone by letting them get close.

_Wade’s fine. He barely noticed. Dammit, Peter, just calm down. You’ve done worse a thousand times, and he’s only loved you more._

A glass of water and a bag of caramels appeared in his field of vision. “Go sit on the couch and eat those. I’ll come with snuggles and lunch just as soon as I can. If you start feeling worse, lemme know, and I’ll be right there with all the hugs. Alright?”

He managed a noncommittal hum. Muscles numb and mind empty, he did as he was told.

After two overstuffed roast beef on ryes, a two-liter of Sprite, and a whole bag of his favorite kettle-fried dill pickle-flavored chips, Peter blinked at the world around him. The neo-modern furnishings of their suite in the tower came into focus.

“’S not sub drop.” Murder shifted in his boyfriend’s glare, the effect chilling enough to make him look away. “He forgot to feed you.”

That statement stood alone needed no reply, so Peter didn’t bother to make one.

“I forgot to feed you.”

His attention snapped to his lover: contrite stance, head low. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I forgot to feed me.”

That could have been either a scoff or a sarcastic laugh; either way Wade cracked the barest little grin. “You always forget.”

“And you take good care of me.” The same couldn’t be said for Peter—he couldn’t keep a cactus alive—but he tried not to wince. “Daddy.”

“I’m just glad there’s no more White Wednesdays and Sunday Fundays—”

“Wait, what? Why?” Peter gawped, incredulous.

“Huh? Why? Yellow fucked you up, baby boy.”

“But … I didn’t … I wasn’t… No…” Loss and sorrow drowned out the outrage of having a major life decision made without his input, and his whimper of indignation, misery, and exhaustion cut off with uncontrollable heaves from his diaphragm. When the older man reached for him, he shoved those arms away. “Fuck off, Wilson.” He stormed into the unused bedroom and collapsed atop the bedspread in a sobbing heap until he fell asleep.

***

“Too good to last, too good for us. But damn it’s been worth the pain….” Wade’s trembling voice disrupted the silent, climate-controlled darkness.

Disturbed by the calm resignation underlying those words, his boy played ’possum so he could eavesdrop a moment longer.

“Never gonna be enough anyway. Might as well get started now, while we can still watch him from a distance.” Louder he called out, “Hate to wake you up before I go-go, but I was hoping for one last kiss.”

Peter blinked, the room too dim and too unfamiliar to make out anything except the silhouette of his lover in the doorway, a large bag in each hand. “Daddy, don’t go.” The words slipped out before his brain had fully engaged, but he was pleased to find the shadow standing stiffer and straighter, like a dog perking his ears with interest. “Don’t wanna lose you too.” Ugh, his voice still sounded waterlogged. “Didn’t wanna lose them either but can’t bear to lose you too.” Ick, repetition, he sounded moronic.

When the ex-merc didn’t move or speak, Peter forced his aching body to sit up. “Yeah, I’m mad you’re taking Yellow and White away from me, but I don’t want—”

“Ho! No, yeah, hold up, hold up, hold up.” Wade repeatedly flashed the time out signal as he sputtered. “Pete-ster, Petey-pie, Petey my meaty: whaddya mean, taking Yellow and White away?” Both bags dropped to the floor. Arms akimbo the dark form still didn’t enter the room.

Unable to decipher his meaning, Peter shrugged. “I get it: I can’t be trusted to keep the boxes in check. I mean, I thought I’d made a lot of progress, but I understand. I just … I wasn’t kidding when I said I love them, and it hurt to have that decision made for me. But you’re right; you’re right way more often than I’d like to admit. Even if I can keep Yellow from skinning me alive, he’s dangerous. I know he is. ’Course I feel like I had things under control with White, but ’m not ques—”

“Peter, stop.” The black form loomed in the doorway, arms crossed and motionless.

That command—using his real name—knocked him speechless, his mouth drawing out the _chun_ he’d started, his intended word forgotten.

“You _want_ to hang out with those assholes?”

“Um, yeah?” Peter blinked but still couldn’t make out the older man’s expression. “I love you. I love the boxes too.”

“And you don’t want us to fuck off?”

“I didn’t mean fuck off for good; I just needed some space to get my emotions under control. Seriously, big guy, just needed to cool off so I didn’t say something mean I don’t mean, er, I mean…” Peter huffed a sigh; as usual he’d done this to himself. “Look, the thought of losing Yellow and White broke my heart. Like I said, I understand why it has to be done, and I’ll accept your decisions about your boxes, but I don’t have to—”

“You’re rambling.” Wade sounded hollow, his voice a thousand miles away.

Oh, that was a rich comment, coming from the internationally renowned motormouth. “Yeah, pot, nice to meet you; I’m kettle.”

Still tentative, he asked, “You’re not afraid of Yellow?”

Peter snorted. “As if. Yellow’s the easy one.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yuh-huh, whatever I ask, he does.”

“Bullshit,” the shadow repeated.

He wagged a finger at his owner. “Every single time, no matter what, without any of that backtalk I get from _some_ of the people in that body.”

Wade clutched his hands over his heart in an exaggerated gasp. “_You_ are calling _me_ difficult, baby boy?”

Amusement overriding his sour disposition, Peter slid to the edge of the rumpled bed. “What can I say, Daddy, pots and kettles have a common ancestor, whom I’ve heard is darker in color than average.”

That cracked Wade’s defensive exterior, and a loud guffaw barked from the dark shape. A moment later, he asked, “And you’re not pissed off at White?

“Not really.” Peter figured Stark deserved that taste of the cosmic banana peel for not feeling White out before going on the offensive.

“You know he planned to cut a bitch.”

Past Peter had been on the edge of panic, but Present Peter shrugged off the concern. “Meh, Tony can handle himself.”

With a snort his owner bit out, “He was stoned off his ass; he couldn’t handle anything. Knew he had a problem with alcohol but never knew he liked the ganja.”

Chest tight, reluctant to bring up the subject, Peter asked, “Remember that secret between me and White?”

“Yeah?” The older man drew out the word as if he were afraid of the answer, though he took a mincing step into the room.

“That’s why he was stoned, nothing to do with a 420 lifestyle.”

“Um … okay?”

“And I’m pretty sure—not absolutely certain but almost positive—White changed his mind while they were casting shade. Pretty sure that box was having a blast. I mean, Tony did leave with a distinct lack of bitch cuts. If White still had the intent, someone would be cut to ribbons … most likely me.” Curious about where this discussion might be headed, Peter slinked closer to the dark figure of his boyfriend.

That somber stillness broke into expansive hand gestures. “See, now, what if he didn’t? What if he did go after Stark? What if he did cut you up?”

With Wade in touching distance, Peter opened his mouth to reply. Instead the overhead light flicked on. He squawked as his phenomenal night vision amplified the sizzling brilliance to a spiritual awakening.

Wade suppressed a dry chuckle that came out his nose anyway. “Sneaking up on Daddy, baby boy?”

“Maybe.” Still blinking away the sting, Peter grinned up, happy to see his boyfriend’s face. “Now then, where’re we headed?”

Confusion obvious in his slack expression, the big man played along. “Dunno; why’d’ya ask?”

“Bags’re packed, so where we goin’?”

“I _was_ thinkin’ there’s work in Myanmar…” Wade grabbed onto both ass cheeks and pulled his boy’s crotch tight against his own. “But if you’re not gonna send me away—us away—then maybe we’ll all stay right here. At least until time for book club.”

“’M not feelin’ book clubish right now, Daddy. Kinda mournin’ the boxes still.”

“Ha! Like Wadey was ever gettin’ a second’s peace til I got t’ grope dat ass again.” Yellow hummed in pleasure while kneading the flesh in his hands, the thrum a seductive ripple along the younger man’s neck.

With a surprised giggle Peter clung to his lover.

“Pish,” White added, “like I’d let meatface stand between a box and my favorite obsession.” He trailed a line of kisses down from the smaller man’s neck. “Never going to happen.”

“Get back, you assholes,” Wade yelped, arms flailing as he retook his body. “No coup de fondue for you two!”

Afraid of a negative answer, Peter clutched his collar to ground him as he asked, “So White’s Wednesdays and Sunday Fundays are back on?”

“Oh, sweet Canadian syrup, baby boy, we’re yours, however you want us, for as long as you’ll have us. Really. We just forget that you’re … more you-er than the rest of the world—you-er, that’s a word, right?—’sides it’s nice to be wanted. Weird but nice. You say you want us, and we can almost believe you—that we might be wanted. Maybe loved. Possibly even liked.” He paused his rant to run his thumbs over the smaller man’s nipples, teasing until they rose into firm pebbles. “Mmm, like the way you squirm and twitch. Hmm, also like the way you can bat those pretty doe eyes and we’re on our knees, eager to please—”

“Always liked that.” Peter rose to his toes to peck a chaste kiss on his owner’s lips.

“—dying inside because someone gives a shit.” Those lips drew thin. “So … question?”

“Yeah?” The younger man froze, held firm by a thin trickle of anxiety.

“You really haven’t changed your mind?” Wade’s smirk had a vibrant edge that set loose all the butterflies in the younger man’s stomach. “Theoretically—see, no boxes up our sleeves, just a normal, everyday question, no pressure or expectation or rings behind your ears, not even a woman sawed in half—if we were to propose right here, right now, what would your answer be?”

“Yes. Yes to all of you.” Oh, Peter was definitely making that man his fiancé first thing after bootcamp. Bonus: maybe those three would quit panicking over every little disagreement if he put a ring on it. “Idiots.”

“Aw, my sweet baby boy, we’re the luckiest idiots on this little green orb.” The big man pinched his cheek, then ran a scarred thumb over the mark. “Hell, I’m the luckiest ass-licker in all the multiverse.”

Overwhelmed by the intensity of the ex-merc’s ravenous leer, Peter developed a sudden fascination with the floor, bashful as a schoolgirl yet again, always an easy target that infuriating man. “You really know how to charm a boy.”

“Charm’s just a pretty word for bullshit, and I can bullshit with the best of ’em.” Wade palmed his boy’s cage, flashing a pleased grin when the younger man rutted into the contact. “Five thousand words into this chapter and you haven’t even begged to suck Daddy’s big, fat cock.”

Defensive Peter seized the chance to shift the focus off him. “We _were_ having a sweet moment, but you and your one-track mind had to—”

“You mean the author’s one-track mind.”

“I mean—” with his body and mind on the edge of rebellion, he just didn’t have the energy to argue over the big lunk’s fantasy world “—you know what? Fine. Daddy, may your boy please, please, please suck your big, fat cock?” Voice petulant in his own ears, he fought down the urge to cringe.

“Or maybe the readers’ one-track minds…? Either way, the answer is no.”

Annoyance rose hard and fast as Peter’s crappy mood settled over him again. “Then why’d you tell me to ask?”

“Didn’t.”

“Did so.” Oh, this couldn’t end well, but Peter couldn’t stop himself.

“Did not. Not, not, not.” The overgrown kindergartener stuck out his tongue.

“Dammit, yes, you did, otherwise why’d I do it?”

“Dunno, baby boy, but that tone…” An evil smirk spread slowly across his marred features, and his boy imagined the violent thoughts behind it, spreading like a plague through his damaged brain. “You’re so deliciously close to earning a punishment I can taste it.”

“Fine, you wanna punish me, then do it; you want your cock sucked, say the word; but I’m through with this argument. I feel like shit, and unless _Daddy_ says otherwise, my nap wasn’t finished.”

“Oh, but you know Daddy’s gonna say otherwise.”

“Hence the tone.”

Wade snickered. As his boy stomped away, he snagged Peter’s arm. “Feeling a little aggressive today, Daddy’s darlin’ dickersnoodle?”

“Maybe…” Sullen, he didn’t bother to turn around; he didn’t want to face the pain of another punishment, wasn’t certain he could.

“Good.” Wade breathed down his neck before peppering it with light kisses that made his boy weak. “It’s been too long since you broke me down like a shotgun and had my wicked way with me.”

Surprised and grateful, Peter spun in his Daddy’s embrace. Met with sweet eager kisses, he sighed into the gentle affection. “Hmm, maybe that nap can wait after all.” He grabbed the bigger man’s t-shirt, stitches popping in his grip as he tugged it over his lover’s head. “Wouldn’t hurt my feelings to work out some of my frustrations first.”

“Mmm, love it when you lose control.”

Stricken by the memory of bones snapping under his hands, he blanched and froze.

“Hurt me, baby boy.” When he didn’t move, Wade pulled him closer, one massive hand covering his back. “Love the ways you make me scream.” Against his boy’s ear, he whispered, “Or’re you gonna make me beg for the pain? Hmm, gonna bring the big bad mercenary to his knees before the sweet, innocent spider deigns to destroy him.” He pulled the cage key off his neck and leaned down to free the younger man.

Finally breaking out of his own fears, Peter managed a wicked grin. “I dunno; you don’t really look like you want me to hurt you. You look like the king of all you survey.” He tried to grope his lover’s bulge through thick denim. “Those pants have gotta go.”

Eyes wide and laser-focused on the smaller man, Wade tossed cage, lock, and key over his shoulder. “Your wish.” Jeans shoved to his ankles in a hurry, already futilely tugging one boot into a pant leg, he toppled sideways, hitting the floor in a heap of flailing limbs.

“So eager. Want a little help there, big guy?” Peter grabbed the seat of his boyfriend’s pants, one hand fisted on either side of the seam.

The most terrifying man he’d ever met plucked at his hands in mock helplessness, the antics absurd, obnoxious even, but amusing nonetheless. “My running away from home jeans! If you rip them, I’ll never escape your twinkish thrall!”

Oh, those jeans were toast. With a yank, the denim split up to the waistband and down one leg to the knee. “No escape. You’re mine now.” Peter grabbed two handfuls of ass and hefted. “Best hold on tight.”

“Oh, you brute,” his boyfriend wailed in falsetto, clinging to his shoulders as legs wrapped around his hips. “You cad!”

Heading for the bed, Peter muttered, “Never trust the CAD guys; they’re always plotting something.”

“That the best you can do, baby boy? You need to go back to the drawing board with that one.”

A malicious spark settled in his chest. “Angling for painal with that pun?”

“Ain’t I always? Work harder, not smarter—or was that faster? Never mind, either way—” Wade’s mirthful laugh cut off in a harsh rasp “—hurt me, baby boy.”

“Oh, I plan on it.”

Screw the bed. After a month of suppression, that old, familiar ascendance took over like it’d never been banished. With muscle memory alone he aligned his lover, his motions slow to let the anticipation build before that first cruel thrust.

Knees over his elbows, back cradled in his clutches, sensitive bud positioned for plunder, his boyfriend trembled, eager. A soft wheeze fell from the bigger man’s lips, followed by an opportunistic snatch of breath…

a faint whimper…

a whine and a buck of hips…

“Please, Petey-pie. I’ve been good, so good, not unalived anyone in months n’ months n’ months.”

Memories flooded Peter’s thoughts. In the early days of their relationship, that assurance had assuaged his guilt for loving every second with the deadly ex-merc. The ruthless excitement of new love surfaced. “Not yet.”

The next whine carried a peevish, impatient edge, a bare hint of stress lining the corners of the big man’s eyes. “Just the tip?”

“’S never just the tip.” He gave a hump, just enough to feel without breaking the tease.

“But Spiderbabe!” With that the floodgates opened, releasing a torrent of words. “Please, anything, I’ll do anything, just please fill me up. I need — dammit, you’re killing me here! Just shove it in already! I need you inside me. Need the burn. You see me? This is me dying. Dying! You hate it when I die. Don’t just lemme die. Always going on about the sanctity of life, yet here I am, dying for that slab of man meat nestled in my pert cheeks.”

Peter couldn’t get a word in edgewise, but he did manage to wrangle the big man’s hands into a bruising grip at the small of his back.

“And now you’re just bein’ mean. Such a little cocktease. Always knew you’d be a cocktease. Or is this an ass tease? That’s you, just an ass tease.” Wade continued talking and squirming. His hips jerked back and forth, trying to both impale himself and rub his cock on any bit of his lover that he could reach.

Peter had forgotten how powerful he felt with that dangerous man at his mercy. A thrill ran down his spine. He needed time in their normal roles as much as his lover did. Entranced by that insane man, he ever so slowly allowed the merc’s weight to sink a single inch toward his hips.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh merciful spider gods, so yes.” Wade thrashed, a futile effort at faster and deeper. “More. Need more.”

“All you’re getting’.”

“Just the tip? You just said ’s ne—” He cut off as his back slammed into the cracked plaster.

“You need to be grateful for what you have.”

He stilled at the warning and smirked down at the smaller man. “Or else…?”

“Spidey’s supposed to set a good example, so I can’t very well reward acting like a spoiled, greedy brat, now can I? So I guess that leaves only one option.”

“Punishment?” Eyes twinkling in pleasure at just the thought, he cooed, “Mmm, yeah, baby boy, hurt me and make it count.”

“How exactly is that a punishment?” Peter pulled back until his cock again teased at the rim.

“No, no, no.” Whimpering the bigger man deflated in his arms. “You said—”

“I know what I said. Of course, I’ve been wrong before.” He caved, utterly defeated by his own desires. One roll of his hips and he sank deep; another and he bottomed out. “Just not wrong this time.”

Two ruins yesterday made for poor recompense for the innumerable times the box ravaged Peter. At this point he wasn’t taking any chances; he let loose, chasing his release. Boyfriend slumping bonelessly against the wall, he used both hands to slam the big man’s hips to his own. His skin buzzed as desire seeped from every pore. With violent slaps of flesh, he ground into that hot squeeze of writhing danger.

Back arched, body quivering, Peter came with a shout.

A still-booted foot pushed him back until he fell free of his lover. “Whoa, Petey-pie, you almost forgot to ruin it. I should get a reward for saving you.”

Mouth rounded, Peter stared at the ex-merc in surprised horror. He’d been so close, only to have it ruined in the rudest way. “You—? I—but I—? No, dammit, not fair.” Stunned, he looked down to watch the pulse trickle from his cock and run down his legs.

“All’s fair in love and mindfuck, honey britches.” Wade stood on his own two feet. “Time to show that gratitude for what you got.” He strode over to the toybox, picked out a large phallus, and held it out to Peter. “C’mon and wreck Daddy.” Once the younger man took the toy, he leaned over the dresser, legs wide in expectation.

Still shocked from being ripped out of his dom headspace and so horny he could taste his desperation, Peter obeyed mechanically, even threw in a few vicious strikes. He took the bigger man apart, giving his lover the exact pleasure he craved.

On his knees, once he’d swallowed all he’d been given, he let his head drop to his chest. Tears of frustration prickled his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“Hey, baby boy, let’s get dressed early and catch dinner on the way to bookclub.” The words came in a singsong that grated on his last remaining nerve.

“I need some time alone.” Desolate he couldn’t meet the big man’s intense scrutiny.

Softer, Wade asked, “How about I shower first, and I’ll have your clothes laid out and some food on the table by the time you’re all pink and clean? That sound okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded numbly, still kneeling.

Was this really the life he wanted? Sure, bootcamp ended tomorrow, but Wade would still be the same asshole when the sun rose. Peter had presumed he’d be in charge again, except he wasn’t certain he could command that same respect after debasing himself so completely. He’d said he’d pineapple out before he’d let bootcamp damage their relationship, but the changes had slipped up on him, accumulated slowly.

Those familiar fireants of failure marched up his spine. He might have satisfied his lover, but he’d failed to dom the maniac into submission. And if he were honest, that power trip had been his goal; he’d rationalized that, by turning his fuckbuddy into his boyfriend, he could leash Deadpool’s murder and mayhem. Now he had doubts about that.

“Shower’s free; need some help to your feet?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Peter still didn’t have the energy to stand.

“I bumped book club back an hour, but I don’t wanna cancel if I don’t gotta.”

“’M okay.” He didn’t really sound okay even to his own ears.

A towel dropped behind him, and the ex-merc’s bulk settled atop it. Still-damp arms tugged him into an engulfing hug. “Talk to me, Peter.”

Whether that were White or a very concerned Wade, he couldn’t decide, and it didn’t matter. “Nothing to say. Just numb.”

“What’s biting you in the ass? That codependence that Wade swears you don’t have?”

“I guess.” Peter sighed against the crushing weight in his chest. “Wade’s my rock, but he tends to tilt underfoot.”

“Oh, he’s a rock alright.” White snickered softly in his ear.

“Be nice. He’s just … so unpredictable.”

“Life’s unpredictable.”

“Yeah.” Peter slumped.

“You suffer less once you accept that, or so the Buddhists say.”

“Never took you for the Buddhist type.”

“I’m not,” the box replied. “But I said I’d work to make us last, and they have answers I can still respect.”

“Still surprised.” Peter had hem hawed for as long as he could justify dodging the topic. Time for the meat of the matter: “So far we’ve shared the crazy. Do you think we can be healthy together?”

“If we want to be. There’s love enough but also addiction and obsession.”

“I know.” Heart squeezing tighter in his chest, Peter admitted, “I planned to ask him, you, whatever, all of you … was gonna ask you to marry me after bootcamp, but … we’re so damaged.”

White drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Isn’t everyone?” Massaging both shoulders the box let him sit in his sadness for a bit longer. “Your crazy dovetails nicely with his … and mine.”

“Think so?”

The box huffed against his neck. “You doubt me?”

“Never.” Peter broke into a smile, weak but genuine. “We’re playing some fucked-up games. I might have let it go too far.”

The box gasped. “Say it isn’t so. Who could have guessed meathead would go too far?”

“Oh, shuddap; I’m serious. He yanked the rug out from under me when I wasn’t prepared to faceplant.”

White tiled the younger man’s chin toward him. For once the box looked serious. “So are you prepared to live with that for the rest of your life?”

“Dunno. I think so. I’m willing to try.” Peter wrapped his arms round his knees. “With the Parker luck, I’m gonna fail. It’s some unwritten law of the universe.”

“So?”

Peter blinked. “So: I’ll lose him. Lose you. Another in a long list of major fails.”

“Sounds like you should be used to it by now.”

He bit back a spike of anguished outrage, too tired to fight. “Thanks.”

“I’m not kidding, Peter. Get used to failure. See it for what it is. As long as you’re willing to fail, you still have hope.”

“Wise box.” He snorted at the irony, since he’d counseled the box last time. “Somebody’s been studying up.”

“Hmph, I have six days a week with a completely empty schedule. I can either lurk in Wade’s cancer-riddled excuse for a brain or dig through the libraries and bookstores on Earth-1218. The choice was a remarkably easy one after I had a goal that didn’t involve destroying … er, him.” White used the smaller man’s shoulders to leverage up to his feet. “C’mon; let’s get you clean and dressed. Wade’s having a snit because we’re running behind.”

“Timely? That seems … non-Wade like?” Peter commented as he let the box pull him up.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Go shower, a quick in-and-out.”

“Yes, Mom.” That earned a smack on his sore ass as he headed off.

A quick scrub, and Peter trotted into the bedroom only to stop dead in his tracks. He’d seen his boyfriend in formalwear before, but never tails over a kilt, complete with waistcoat, sporran, and flashes on his knee socks. The man looked positively edible.

“Uh.” Peter swallowed to keep from drooling.

“You like it?” Wade twisted, making the loose fabric flare while the midnight-navy jacket strained to contain his shoulders. “It’s the New York City tartan. White said you’d like it more than my leather butcher’s kilt, and I guess he’s prob’ly right, since I’ve used it a whole lot, but wool still feels weird, like it belongs to the sheep, and we just, ya know, shave it off ’em and leave ’em naked. I mean, sure, not that leather isn’t more obtrusive — or was that intrusive? — but it’s familiar, ya know, normal. Like everyday wear for Deadpool instead of this stiff, formal stuff, but I think the occasion warrants formal—”

Peter shook off his stupor. “Wade, yes, I like it. A lot.”

“Oh. Good.” The older man took three slow, deep breaths. “Yeah, that’s better.”

With his intellect catching up to his thoughts, Peter managed to state a cohesive idea: “You don’t just look amazing, you look like royalty.”

“Nah, just wanna put our best foot forward tonight.”

Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes. “And why is that?” Not like he’d be dressed long enough to bother fretting over his outfit.

“Shh, baby boy, leave everything to Daddy. You just worry about being pretty in your tux.” Wade tossed him a pair of navy-blue y-front boxer-briefs.

“No womenswear tonight?” He pulled on the first pair of men’s underwear he’d worn in so long he couldn’t remember, and some of the vague unease quieted in his chest.

“Doesn’t it feel good to be a boy again?” He held up a midnight-navy tux in offering.

Answering a question with a question? Oh, something was definitely up. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”

***

“Oh, thank goodness! Right on time, Mr. Wilson. The natives are restless, and I was starting to worry you and your chipmunk might cancel.” The disposable masks Diane handed them were different tonight: dark navy and plain. “The ballroom is at capacity, but since you two are the main attraction, what the fire marshal doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

The ballroom held two hundred people, all waiting to see Peter squirm through every debauched act his lover could tease out of him? Leaden numbness spread through his limbs and crushed his chest. An icy sweat seeped from the nape of his neck, his temples, the small of his back…

“Pineapple.” Peter’s panic attack drowned out his weak voice. “Pineapple.”

“I got you, baby boy.” Wade tucked the younger man’s hand at his elbow and turned to Diane. “Buy us some more time, yeah?”

“For you? Anything.” The woman tapped her podium in thought. “The actors have been performing improv for almost an hour already, but Mary Alice has a hot little song and dance routine worked up that she’s not had a chance to perform. Oof, and did I say she was hot?”

Wade laughed as he kissed her cheek. “You’re the GOAT.”

“Float like an octopus, sting like a jellyfish,” she commented as she flipped a switch, and sold-out blazed in neon across the marquee. She hurried from the ticket stand, leaving the two men alone.

“’Sup, bubble butt?”

“Panic attack.” Feeling steadier, Peter still clutched his boyfriend like a lifeline. “I can’t have two hundred people watch me … do those things we do.”

His boyfriend chuckled softly against his ear, then whispered, “Oh, really?”

Imbibing the words with as much authority as humanly possible, he replied, “Yes, Wade, really.”

“Do you trust me?”

“After that little denial stunt earlier? Not so much.”

The big man gasped. “That what’s got your longjohns twisted?”

“Yes, Wade, kicking me out of my dom headspace with absolutely no warning has repercussions.”

“Oh … but for bootcamp you weren’t supposed to be in dom … oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry ’bout that, baby boy. I thought you knew you were still subbing, even if you were topping.”

“’S fine. But I still can’t…. There’s so many. How’d there get to be so many?” Peter huffed. “Jeez, parading me around like a thot much?”

“Well, no, I mean… Can I?” Wade gasped in hopeful glee.

A couple of masked revelers wandered out of the ballroom and headed their way.

Peter steadfastly ignored them. “Pray tell, precisely what do you mean, oh light of my life?”

“Well, I need my Petey-pie extra extra tonight.” Wade’s expectant smirk split into a wicked grin. “Daddy’s got something super special planned. Just for his extra boy.”

“And you two’d better get a move on,” one of the stray book club divas stated—in his boss’s voice.

Peter nearly leapt out of his skin. “Mr. Stark?”

“For the love of … please, please, call me Tony.”

He eyed up the other man. “Dr. Banner?”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Something akin to sheer terror climbed up Peter’s throat. The madman he loved had gone over all the lines this time. No turning back, he had to cut—

Wade leaned close. “You said to invite whoever I wanted, and I told you to remember that.”

“You did.” Numb, the younger man nodded, his train of thought lost.

Another string of revelers filed out, scanned the hallway, and dashed toward them. Johnny Storm led the charge, MJ on his heels, followed by … no, can’t be…

“Wade,” Peter hissed, “is that Aunt May and Jay Jameson?”

“Why, yes, yes, it is.” Against his ear, the older man added, “Would you feel better if I said no one’s seeing your underoos tonight?”

“Yes. I mean, I’d like to think I’ve figured that out by now, but yes, I feel better hearing it from you, just to confirm that you’re not—”

“You’re rambling again,” Wade informed him.

“Bite my—bite me, big man.” Really, he didn’t have a potty mouth until they started dating.

“See, I told you they were here,” MJ stuck out her hand.

“Okay, maybe ex-wives do have radar.” Johnny slipped a folded bill into her hand as he asked, “So when’s that threes—”

Peter nudged past them. “Aunt May! So glad to see you!” He wrapped her in the tightest hug he thought she’d survive. “And Jay, thanks for taking good care of my aunt.” He offered his hand, which the man shook heartily.

Johnny asked MJ, “You saw Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner step outside, didn’t you?”

“I made an educated guess on who they were, yes.” MJ waved a five-dollar bill in his face. “And my phone still tracks his phone’s GPS.”

May nudged her with an elbow. “You’re going to have to show me that trick.”

As introductions and pleasantries were exchanged, Peter realized this entire set-up stank to high heaven, but he also decided he didn’t care. Wade had arranged for all his favorite people to be in the same place at the same time, and his concerns were crowded out by the stunning reminder that so many people cared about him.

Lost in a pleasantly excited bubble, Peter let himself get swept up in the excitement.

Soon Diane returned. “Time to make your grand entrance.” She poked Wade in the chest. “You can’t chicken out on me now. Everyone’s invested, and I’m dying to see your … er, this.”

“Oh, mysterious,” Banner muttered under his breath.

“The chickening out is canceled, scout’s honor.” Wade saluted with three fingers straight, his thumb holding down his pinky.

“What kind of scout is that?” Peter asked.

“Brownies.” His boyfriend chortled before resettling his hand at the big man’s elbow. “I like brownies. C’mon, our audience is waiting.”

Reassured, Peter let his lover lead him into the ballroom just as a stacked brunette in a sparkling leotard cleared the stage. As they swept down the center aisle, every eye was on them.

Wade lifted him onto the stage and jumped up after him. “Well, you ready for this?”

“I trust you,” his boy replied, ignoring the unanswerable question.

He turned to the audience. “I know you guys are eager for tonight’s main event.” While the hoots and applause died down, he positioned the younger man in profile with him. “The last month has been the wildest of my life, which is saying something, yet somehow you’re still here. And I got to thinking, if you can put up with me this long, maybe you’re willing to stay with me for a while longer.” He dropped to one knee and tugged a small box from his sleeve. After several seconds of fighting the lid, he showed the smaller man a black band studded with red stones. “Will you…? Um, me, yes, will you…?”

“Will I marry you?” Peter offered, as he swallowed against the swell of elation in his chest.

“Yeah, that. What you say, Petey-pie? Will you be my lovey hubby?”

“Yes—”

Before he could say more, Wade grabbed him in a crushing embrace.

“The ring.”

“Oh, right!”

Peter’s newly minted fiancé took his hand and slid the ring into place as balloons and confetti fell from the ceiling.

Their audience broke into pandemonium, an all-out assault on the senses. Too overjoyed to care that his eardrums felt ready to burst, Peter let himself be led through the throng, shaking hands and being slapped on the back. Booze flowed freely. Small treats from Elaine’s kitchen appeared on platters and disappeared almost as quickly.

Wade dragged him to the small dance floor, spun him dizzy.

Diane nearly ripped his finger off in an effort to get a good view of his ring.

Stark informed him, “You become responsible forever for that which you’ve tamed, so glad to see you’re doing right by the merc.”

Masked revelers passed Peter around like maiden aunts with a newborn baby.

World a festive blur, Peter was ushered into the cramped elevator and whisked away from their well-wishers. On their usual floor, the silence felt profound, just shy of oppressive, and he was glad to find soft music playing in their candlelit room, where a sea of fragrant white petals covered the bed.

“Did you miss any of the clichés?” he asked, stupefied by the beauty nonetheless.

“Course not. I’m good at this romance shit.” Arms out Wade fell straight back on the bed in a puff of flowers. “Oh, and guess what time it is.”

“Since nothing stops bootcamp, it’s time for you to give your fiancé his first paddling?”

“It’s midnight,” Wade replied, aware that the author would take the hint that the day was over and let them have this moment together in privacy.

**Author's Note:**

> Since everyone has been so nice as to share Spideypools with me, I thought I'd return the favor.
> 
> If there's enough interest on all our parts, I'll write more days.
> 
> Edited to Add:
> 
> Wow, comments are so useful. Writing inside my own head, I have no outside source for plot bunnies. No wonder so many of you guys become excellent writers.
> 
> As Editrix of the Deep Dark Woods, I've spent a lot of time studying how the writers here develop over time so I can better guide my new authors. All of you, both in writing and comments, have taught me so much more than I anticipated when I asked the internet how men experience sex and it replied with 3000 Spideypool fanfics.
> 
> *mocking former self in high, doubly-obnoxious voice* “It’s sainted-holy re-e-esearch. I don’t have to worry about canon, so I can taint Spiderman and Deadpool’s mental connota-a-ations.” Yeah. Now I’m ⅔ of the way through the fandom. I can’t decide if you guys suck for being addictive or you guys are the absolute bee’s knees for being amazing.
> 
> I owe everyone here an apology, as I once scoffed at fanfics, assuming they were amateur works by bored sixteen-yo girls. Never occurred to me that those kids keep practicing, gain skills, and grow up, all within a supportive community that fosters creativity. Um, yeah, sorry 'bout that, guys.
> 
> 🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵🐝🐝🐝🏵


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